


I would not wish any companion in the world but you

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [5]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Arguing, BDSM, Dancing, Death, Drinking, Fae & Fairies, Fae manipulation, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Knives, M/M, Murder, Sexual Content, Urban Magic Yogs, Violence, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:05:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 19,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trott and Smith run off together, living in abandoned buildings and crappy apartments, walking late at night, and exploring the city. They build a new life together, and despite it’s ups and downs, Trott enjoys himself and his life more than he ever has.</p><p>A collection of one-shots, drabbles, and notes on the lives of the water fae before a court, before Ross, before Sips, and before it all comes crashing down. Through the waves of rivers and seas, they are each other's anchors and the current that keeps them close, no matter how unsteady.</p><p>(chapters range in rating from Teen to Explicit. half are rated T, and the other half are M and E)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day or so after here lies the water... the two water fae sleep by the river, listening to the bubbling brook and trilling frogs, and follow it back to the city. When they finally arrive, they get Trott some shoes, and then Smith takes to Trott to a diner at the edge of the city. Getting burgers and cheese fries and onion rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> an orange dreamsicle/creamsicle is usually an ice cream bar with vanilla ice cream surrounded by orange ice cream. it can also be made into a milkshake, and sometimes could also be called an orange julius, but that’s more commonly orange juice and vanilla ice cream.
> 
> http://ssickening.tumblr.com/post/149754972134/berlin-1976-on-the-set-of-the-man-who-fell-to  
> Smith outside a pawn shop
> 
> http://ssickening.tumblr.com/post/126524935154  
> Troffy diner
> 
> "I would not wish any companion in the world but you"  
> The Tempest (Act 3, Scene 1)
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/09/26/i-would-not-wish-any-companion-in-the-world-but-you-ghostofgatsby/

“Those smell fucking disgusting.”

“You mean fucking delicious,” Smith chirps, taking a bite out of the greasy onion ring between his fingers.

“What _is_ that?” Trott asks, pointing towards Smith’s drink. The liquid inside was a peachy-white swirl of color.

“Try some.” Smith pushes the glass toward him. “It’s an orange dreamsicle. It’s basically orange juice and vanilla ice cream.”

Trott wrinkles his nose but takes the glass. The condensation wets his fingertips as he puckers his mouth around the straw and takes a sip. The sour taste of the orange zings across his taste buds but is smoothed over by the sweetness of the ice cream.

“What do you think?” Smith asks expectantly.

Trott licks his lips as he slides the glass back across the table. “It’s...different. Not too bad, though.”

“Yeah. A lot of things are going to be new to you. You’ve eaten fish all your life, haven’t you?” Smith takes a drink himself, eyes sparkling.

“Fish, crustaceans, octopi, mollusks. Anything we can catch we eat alive.” Trott takes a large bite of his burger and hums happily. “But if there were cows in the sea I would have killed them all for one burger.”

Smith laughs and steals the last cold bits of cheese fries from Trott’s plate. “But there _are_ sea _horses_ , right? Just none as pretty as me.”

Trott snorts and rolls his eyes, finishing the last of his burger and brushing the crumbs from his hands.

“At least you had variety,” The kelpie adds, sighing and leaning back in the booth. He swirls his straw through his drink playfully. “All I had growing up was fish. What’s for breakfast? Fish. What’s for lunch? Fish. What’s for dinner? Fish. Want a snack? How about dessert? 24-hour diner of _fucking fish_.”

Trott shakes his head and smiles. He reaches across the table to steal a drink of Smith’s dreamsicle again. “Boring ass river folk,” he teases.

Smith sticks his tongue out at him with a cheeky grin. “Fuckin’ sea twat.”

The selkie chuckles and looks away from Smith to stare out the window. Smith can see the dark shadows under Trott’s eyes, a sign of the little sleep he’d gotten while they were travelling. Hopefully finding a place in the city would be more comfortable than the forest floor had been. But Smith knows it’s not just the location that’s keeping Trott awake at night.

Smith frowns before forcing a smile. “I swear I’m never eating fish again for as long as there’s beef and pork and chicken.” He swipes the receipt from the table and scoots across the plastic-lined booth seat. “I’m going to go pay for this, and then we’ll get out of here, alright?”

Trott looks away from the window, eyes far away and smile pained. “Yeah, alright.” He smirks and drinks the rest of the orange dreamsicle. Smith shakes his head disdainfully, but strokes Trott’s cheek as he moves past him to pay for their meal.


	2. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith and Trott spend the night in a library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/09/26/i-would-not-wish-any-companion-in-the-world-but-you-ghostofgatsby/
> 
> trying to shake loose that writer's block.

Smith curses and wrenches the door harder, to no avail. “Dammit- fucking-” The library is locked up tight, as it should be at half past midnight. He’s never been the best at picking locks, but if the universe could just work with him for one second-

Trott rolls his eyes at the kelpie behind his back. “Let me try it,” he suggests, waving Smith out of his way.

Smith sighs aggravatedly and offers him the pins he’d been using. “Be my guest.”

Trott just twists his hand and the locks inside the door clack open magically.

“Show-off,” Smith grumbles.

Trott smiles and gestures for him to go in first. Smith holds the door open for him instead.

As Trott’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he gazes around in wonder. Shelves after shelves after shelves of books, and this was only the first floor. Trott gapes, speechless. He turns around to face Smith, who smiles lovingly.

“Go on then.” Smith gestures toward the shelves. “We’ll be here all night, and we can come back later, too. Books are free to borrow if you return them on time and in good condition, so it’s no hassle.”

“I-I don’t know where to start...” He’s never seen so many books.

Smith takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. “Wherever you want, Trott. Whatever you need,” he says quietly.

Trott turns and kisses him hard like the sun is dying and they’re the last two people on earth. When it breaks, Smith laughs at Trott’s curious peering down the lines of shelves. “The books aren’t going to run away, Trott. There’s nobody in here but us.”

Smith hands Trott his lighter and shows him how to spark it. “Here. Use this to see what your looking at, but don’t light anything on fire. If you find a candle or two, bring it over.”

Trott moves along the shelves, cautiously, so used to being wary.

Smith walks over to the right wing of the library and pushes a couple couches together to form a bed. He smugly unpacks his blanket from his knapsack and lays down, catching glimpses of Trott between the stacks. His face is lit only by the glow of Smith’s lighter, and Smith can’t wait to show him the rest of the city.


	3. Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott buys a lot of knives after he comes to the city. One day a couple of drunken a-holes harass Trott and Smith, and they get into a fight in an alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> cw: implied harassment, fighting, violence, knives, murder, blood, death, drinking
> 
> http://digital-v0id.tumblr.com/post/137641987095  
> http://dougbiscuits.tumblr.com/post/120971693529/knifepics-balisong-butterfly-knife  
> some of Trott’s knives
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/120512645192/hiromitsu-sunset02-by-2create-on-flickr  
> apartment one- the scaffolding
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/133790678259/logolepsyie-the-first-punch-pierce-the-veil  
> Trott
> 
> http://mythaelogy.tumblr.com/post/141872802561/i-do-not-want-to-have-you-to-fill-the-empty-parts  
> Trott about Smith

The men had split up, swinging at Trott and Smith to try to separate them. Smith can’t see Trott past the bulk of the other man’s frame. One man lashes out when he’s distracted, and his fist glances off Smith’s chin. The next thing Smith knows, he’s being shoved by his throat into the brick wall behind him.

He gasps for breath, scrambling his feet to try to get some leverage.

The other man grins but a knife thunks through the back of his neck, piercing through his throat. He gurgles, lurching backwards and letting go of Smith to grab uselessly at the knife. The man falls to the ground. His blood pools across the gravelly alley.

“Holy fuck...” Smith says once he’s regained his breath. He shakes his head and steps away from the body, looking up at Trott across from him. “Are you alright?"

Trott looks up from where his eyes were trained on the bodies. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” His knuckles are white where his fist is clenched around his knife, and his hands are stained with blood.

Smith sighs, shakily eyeing the knife. “I didn’t know you had these.”

“I always have one on me.”

“I wondered, since you’ve bought so many.” He moves closer to Trott and pulls him close. Trott keeps a tight grip on the knife in his hand. “Is that one new?” Smith asks him, “It looks like ivory.”

“I’ve always had it. It’s tusk.”

Smith freezes, making the connections. He kisses the top of Trott’s head and nuzzles it affectionately. “...I’m glad you’re safe.”

Trott tucks the knife away and takes Smith’s hand instead. “Let’s go home,” he says tersely. He yanks his other knife free of the dead man’s throat on their way out of the alley.

The kelpie holds his hand tighter as they walk away, saying nothing about the trembling in Trott’s fingertips.

 

Trott and Smith pass a bottle of whiskey back and forth, sitting on top of the scaffolding of their apartment-of-the-week, feet dangling over the edge. Trott leans back in Smith's arms, the kelpie's chin on the top of his head. They watch the sun come up over the clouds. The city comes to life with the slow breath of morning.

“Is it bothering you?” Smith asks softly.

“Is what?”

“The kill.”

In the distance they can hear the sounds of birds, cawing as they fly over the city.

“No.” Trott sighs. “It just...happened so quickly.”

Smith shrugs and tightens his arms around Trott. “People tend to act quickly when they’re threatened. Fight or flight response, I think I’ve heard it called.”

Trott shakes his head, dislodging Smith’s chin for a moment. “Not where I’m from. All there is, is fight. Fight, or...” Trott shakes his head again, and this time Smith lifts his chin entirely. “That asshole had a fist around your throat, and I-”

“It was necessary.” Smith swallows thickly. “He could have snapped me in half if you hadn’t done something.”

“I don’t regret it,” Trott mutters, “I think...I think that’s what’s bothering me- that I _don’t_. Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” Smith replies, “Trott, I kill people every week.”

“That’s different.” Trott scoffs.

“Is it?”

“You-”

“Even if it isn’t, I don’t regret what I do...so you most certainly shouldn’t,” Smith says sternly, “It was him, or me. You picked me. End of story.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Trott protests. There were always reasons that a selkie won their fights. All his life, he’d been told he wasn’t strong enough. It couldn’t be that simple- it never had been, where Trott was from.

“It is if you let it be.” Smith kisses the top of Trott’s head and rests his chin atop it again.

“Is it?” Trott sighs. He watches the sun rise over the buildings. The sky turns from dusky pink, to lavender, to baby blue. _Maybe, Smith._ He thinks. _Maybe._


	4. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E
> 
> song for this chapter: Chances Are- Johnny Mathis
> 
> http://expressions-of-nature.com/post/117968416321/by-lana-gramlich  
> mossy forest fae prom
> 
> cw: explicit sex, mentions of drowning

The thing about dances during the summer is that they attract both humans and fae like moths to a flame. So it’s relatively easy for Smith to hunt a couple of poor souls and kill them for their suits.

Powder blue for Trott; spring green for himself.

He thinks they look rather dashing in the twinkling lights of the river-side ball. They slow-dance together in the moonlight as the band on the stage croons slow love songs. Smith leads with Trott’s hand in his. They sway like water rippling in the breeze.

It makes Smith’s heart swell with emotion, the way Trott looks at him tonight. He feels so undeserving.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” Smith murmurs into the selkie’s ear, cheek to cheek with him.

Trott chuckles back, the sound low but rich with mirth. “I’d say I’m the lucky one, not you, Smith.”

Smith grins. “Oh really, now? I ought to remember that next time you get mad at me for something.”

Trott laughs again and Smith feels him hide a smile in his neck. Trott dips his head just above the collar of Smith’s suit and kisses the skin there.

“I’ll just conveniently forget I said such a thing, and insist you imagined it all,” he whispers cheekily.

Smith kisses his temple. “I’d happily make that up anyday, if it meant I’d get to be with you.”

Trott lifts his head to draw Smith into a heady kiss. His lips taste like the cheap wine they drank earlier in lieu of having some at the dance. Even fae know not to drink the punch at these kinds of balls.

When they part, Smith brings Trott’s hand to his lips and brushes kisses over his knuckles.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he mutters with a smirk.

A slow smile spreads across Trott’s face. “Already that horny for a fuck, are we?” he whispers, moving forward again to kiss Smith’s lips. “Are you always this insatiable?”

“Can’t help it, mate. That suit looks good on you.” Smith lets go of Trott’s hand to trail his own down the silky powder-blue material of Trott’s suit jacket. Dry cleaning had cost a fortune to get the river water out, but it was absolutely worth it.

“Come on,” Trott’s eyes are dark when they meet Smith’s again. “Let’s make some fun of our own.”

Smith leads Trott along the river bank, away from the dancing and back towards the city proper. They keep getting caught up in each other, fingers straying too long on skin and looks filled with so much longing they can’t help but stop and kiss each other senseless.

“Do you think-” Smith starts, breaking off from kissing Trott for a moment. “Would you maybe-”

Trott kisses him again with a hum.

“Want to just...do it here?”

Trott pushes at Smith chest, breaking the kiss. “Here? Right next to the river?”

Smith shrugs and pulls Trott along again, this time a little further away from the riverbank and through the trees. “I think there’s a park up here somewhere.”

“I’m _not_ getting in your river, sunshine,” Trott warns. He tightens his grip on Smith’s hand.

“I know, I’m not going to do _that_.” Smith rolls his eyes and peers through the foliage, searching. His eyes land on a lonely park bench in a tiny clearing. There’s a dirt lot where a car or two could park. Nothing else. Tiny parks like this hardly got any use anymore.

“Here we go,” Smith says, letting go of Trott’s hand and walking up to the bench. He shucks off his suit jacket and lays it across the seat before turning around.

There’s a view of the river from here, of the moon’s reflection rippling in the water.

In one fluid motion, Smith unbuttons and pushes his dress pants to his knees.

Trott tuts and rolls his eyes at the fact that Smith wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The kelpie runs a hand through his hair and smirks. He’s half-naked in the dark of the night, skin pale-white and ghostlike. “C’mere.” He beckons to Trott and sits down on his jacket on the bench.

“How romantic,” Trott drawls sarcastically. He folds his arms across his chest.

“Just come _here_ ,” Smith whines.

Trott sighs and walks over to stand between his legs. “Now what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Smith smiles warmly and takes both of Trott’s hands in his. He stares out into the sparse woods around them for a few seconds, and then looks back at Trott.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he says warily, squeezing Trott’s fingers.

“We had sex this morning, Smith,” Trott remarks dryly.

Smith scoffs. “Not that. I meant...” He gestures out towards the river. “It’s been a while since I had sex by the river. Like this.” He inhales a shaky breath, looks back into Trott’s sea blue eyes and stares into the depths. “It’s different, with you.”

“Good different or bad different?” Trott asks.

“The best different.” Smith smiles reassuringly. He tilts his head up to kiss Trott smooth and slow. “If you’re not up for it, we can finish this back home.” he says, brushing his lips against Trott’s and cupping his jaw.

The selkie chuckles in that tone of his that means he has a devilish little idea that he knows Smith’s going to like. “I was under the impression...” he drawls, smirking, “That I was riding a kelpie by the river tonight.”

Smith laughs. “That can be arranged.” He kisses Trott warmly, lips heated, but Trott breaks away again.

“Provided your feet stay right where they are, of course.” Trott adds after a thought. “And that I’m not actually fucking a horse.”

“No horse dick, promise.” Smith grins.

“You really know how to turn a guy on, Smith,” Trott grumbles, sarcasm heavy on his tongue.

“Fuck off, Trott,” Smith replies joyfully, and draws the selkie in for another kiss.

 

Trott takes his suit jacket off, undoes his dress pants, and undresses out of them and his boxers. He folds the clothes and places them on the bench so they won't get dirty.

"Do you have lube?" he asks breathily, straddling Smith's waist with a creak of the bench and grinding down in his lap.

"Mmm, yeah. Left back pocket of my dress pants." Smith sucks and nips at Trott's neck and starts undoing the buttons of his shirt. He undoes Trott's tie while Trott leans down to fish the packet of lube out of Smith's pants pooled at his ankles.

"Always prepared, aren't you?" Trott sits up again. He hums when Smith's hands part the folds of his shirt and Smith kisses a line across his collarbone.

"I cash in on the free samples at the health clinics," Smith mumbles into his chest.

Trott laughs and squeezes the last of the packet of lube onto his fingers. "You horny fuck! No wonder you have so much lube all the time."

"The better to fuck you with, Trott." He licks his lips and grins up at the selkie in his lap, who has brought his lube coated hand behind himself and is steadily pressing a finger inside.

Trott sighs with the feeling and rocks his hips forward and down onto Smith.

Smith moans and tips his head backwards to watch Trott move, eyes lidded. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he mumbles.

Trott gives a shuddery laugh when he presses another finger inside himself. “I think you’re just moon-drunk.”

The kelpie hums and pushes Trott’s shirt off his chest until it starts to hug at his elbows. “You’d believe me if you could see yourself right now.”

“Fuck, Smith...” Trott pants, grinding his hips in Smith’s lap.

Smith kisses him again. “You ready?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

Smith moans at the quiet slick sound of Trott withdrawing his fingers. Trott’s hand wraps around the kelpie’s cock and gives it a stroke before lining himself up. Trott rises up on his knees, takes a deep breath, and sinks himself down.

The water fae let out simultaneous groans at the feeling. Trott rocks down onto Smith, and Smith thrusts up into Trott. Both swear they can hear the river lapping against the shore from here, but neither pays it any mind. They chase after their climax, movements picking up pace and moans growing louder.

“Smith...” Trott groans. His knees ache on the wood of the bench, but he’s close. From the way Smith moans his name, Trott knows he’s close too. He captures Smith’s lips with his and feels the kelpie shake beneath him, climax finally rolling over him with a rumbling moan. Smith’s hand reaches between them to get Trott off, and Trott’s eyes roll with a breathy sigh when he spills over Smith’s fingers.

 

In the dim moonlight of the clearing, they catch their breath. Trott’s arms are around Smith’s shoulders, and their heads are leaning together, noses touching as they stare into each other’s sated, lust-darkened eyes. Smith traces the lines of Trott’s hips and gives him a lazy grin.

Trott smiles back, but winces and changes position so he’s sitting in Smith’s lap instead. The kelpie rubs the soreness from his knees with a gentle hand.

They sit in the quiet, basking in the afterglow. Trott sighs happily and looks about the clearing. He watches the river from where they’re sitting. The moon has shifted, dipping closer to the water. Up ahead, there’s a flickering light that catches Trott’s attention.

"What's that light up there?” he asks Smith. “Dancing in the dark?"

Smith chuckles and presses a kiss to Trott's throat. "She's a Will-o'-the-wisp. You don't want to get close, though. Pretty, but deadly."

Trott hums. "Like you?"

Smith hides a smile in Trott's neck. "Like me," he murmurs. He brushes his hands over Trott's skin and listens to the frogs burble and croak in the river. "All the myths are true, you know. The stories told to mortals in the dark around a burning oil lamp."

"Are there books on that?"

The kelpie laughs. "There are. You'll have to read up."

 

Fireflies float in the darkness of the night. Trott holds his hands out and catches one between his palms. He grins, takes a peek at the lightning bug and then lets it go. The tiny light darts off, buzzing.

 

"Dance with me, again." Trott gets off of his lap and stands. They redress.

Smith lets him take his hands and pull him away from the bench to sway in the middle of the little clearing. "We don't have any music."

"I'll make something up." Trott pulls him close, leading Smith this time instead of the other way around.

The press cheek-to-cheek and Trott starts to hum, closing his eyes. Smith lets himself bask in the melody. He knows this is just for him, and he may never hear it again. Trott hums slow and liltingly, a haunting tone with a rise and fall like the ocean crashing against the shore.


	5. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> cw: drowning, fae manipulation, blood, knives, death/murder, fighting, arguments
> 
> apartment two- the shoddy kitchen two room rent-house  
> http://astrhoes.tumblr.com/post/128434427092/leo-sun-cap-moon-sag-rising  
> early Troffy apartments orange
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/125821912893  
> Trott throwing knives
> 
> http://deseptions.tumblr.com/post/129316975794/aesthetic-blog  
> Troffy fight one
> 
> songs for this chapter:  
> This River is Wild- The Killers  
> Jenny Was A Friend of Mine- The Killers

Smith futilely tries to cover his ears as he vaults out of the river, tripping over himself and the pants around his ankles. He yanks his pants up and freezes up in pain as the banshee in the water thrashes and screams again. The high pitched wail is like an arrow through the head, and Smith’s ears are bleeding from the sound.

It’s a short run two streets over to the apartment he shares with Trott. The banshee will be after him as soon as she can get out of the tangled kelp in the river. He didn’t know she was a banshee until she started screaming. Not even the water muffles fae shrieks like this.

Smith busts through the door. “Trott, we have a problem!” he yells. He does up his pants again before he spots Trott on the couch, reading.

Trott raises an eyebrow at his sodden appearance. “What do you mean ‘ _we have a problem’?_ ”

The banshee’s wail slashes through the room, and Smith and Trott clap hands over their ears in pain.

“Fuck’s _sake!_ ” Trott screeches.

Smith turns towards the open door as the banshee stumbles through, hair limp with river water. She opens her mouth wide to scream again and knives fly past Smith’s head, thunking into her throat and abdomen.

“How-How did she step past the threshold?” Smith asks aloud, frozen in place.

“Banshees are the spectres of the dead, they don’t obey threshold magic.”

Smith glances at Trott as he stalks past. The selkie looks furious.

“You and your _murderfucking,_ Smith,” Trott spits, walking up to the gurgling banshee. “You’re lucky she didn’t kill you in your own river.”

Smith watches him finish the banshee off with brutal efficiency, slitting her undead throat and sharply breaking her neck over his knee with a loud snap. Her body crumples to the floor.

Smith wipes the blood out of his ears with a corner of his already stained white t-shirt. “Thanks, Trott...” he mutters.

“This wasn’t a problem I should have to fix, _Smith_ ,” Trott snaps in reply, “I shouldn’t have to save your fucking ass when you screw up.”

Smith scowls. “I didn’t know she was a fucking banshee, alright? I’ll be more attentive next time.”

Trott turns towards him with an icy glare. “You better be. Because this,” he gestures to the broken body on the floor, “isn’t my mess to clean up. Why do you have to be so fucking reckless with your kills all the time?”

“Uh, because I’m a kelpie?” Smith growls, raising an eyebrow.

Trott scoffs. “That’s no excuse. You don’t see me blaming my kind for the stupid mistakes I’ve made.”

“Because they made you think...” Smith shakes his head and sighs shakily. “Look, I know I fucked up-”

“They made me think what, Smith? That I was a failure? Maybe because they were right.”

Smith balks. “Trott, what are you talking about? No, they _weren’t-_ ”

“No? Fuck to that! They were right in at least some aspects-”

“Don’t you dare let them-”

“You blame what you are for the mistakes you make. Own up to them.” Trott folds his arms across his chest.

Smith grinds his teeth. “No. _Fuck you._ ”

Trott glares back. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not ‘owning up to your mistakes’, Trott,” Smith snarls, “you’re believing your failures are only on you and they’re not. I know what they’ve done has made you blind-”

Trott barks a bitter laugh.

“-but you’re not just _some selkie,_ and that’s why you don’t blame them. They constantly put that blame on you, and none of it was yours to carry. You can’t just tell me to own up to my mistakes, if you haven’t settled with what your believe are yours.” Smith reaches out for Trott, but he moves aside.

“You want to talk about mistakes, Smith? Then why don’t you face up to this?” he asks with a snide glance to the body between them on the floor.

“I did! You want to talk about me, Trott? _Fine_.” Smith grits his teeth and steps closer to Trott. He clenches his hands into fists. “I know I’m a fuck-up, and I know I make mistakes. Is some of that because of who I am? _Yes_. But that’s not me refusing to own up to it.”

“What is it then?” Trott snaps in reply, standing his ground with a stoic expression. Smith stalks up to him until they're a few inches apart.

“It’s not me refusing to deal with it- it’s me taking the monster I am, taking the _fuck_ in the dark that sparks fear into their eyes and _owning it_ ,” Smith growls, “Oh, I make mistakes. I know I make mistakes, Trott, but I’m not going to let them define my destiny.”

“Really,” Trott drones in disbelief.

“Yes, really. Believe what you will about me, I don’t care,” He scoffs and tosses his head, “My response to that is ‘no, fuck you,’ because I’m not going to feel bad or cower and pretend I’m not trash when I know I am. So I agree and I move on, because _nobody_ tells me who I am or defines me. Not _you, not my kind, not anyone else_ who thinks they can stop me.”

Smith stares at Trott, the green within his eyes darkening with anger and coiled power. “Those who hate me and tell me I’m nothing could be right, this is true,” he continues, “but _fuck them_ if they think I’m not something to be fearful of. Power can be corrupted, but it’s still powerful.”

Trott says nothing, refusing to look away despite his hesitance. His hands tighten on his arms, nails digging into his own skin.

Smith leans away from him, face grim and solemn. He looks between the body on the floor and Trott again. “You can’t move up in the world if you hold onto your failures and your faults,” he says simply, “You can’t keep believing in the words of those against you. You’ve got to take their words and use them as your armor and use them as your weapon. You’ll never make it any way else.”

Smith turns away, and walks back towards the door. “If there’s anything my mistakes have taught me Trott, it’s that,” he says over his shoulder. He slams the door shut on his way out, so hard the wood at the hinges splinters.

Trott stares at the door for a long time, standing silently.

 

It smells like fire when Smith comes home, and part of him panics until he realizes nothing’s burnt down. The pot on the stove is blackened. Whatever was cooking has been charred into black-brown remains.

“I tried to make dinner...” Trott says quietly. Smith glances over his shoulder at the selkie leaning in the kitchen doorway with his back turned.

“I can see that.” He says, skeptically looking at the pot again. “You made...what, exactly?”

“Macaroni and cheese. I forgot to add water.”

“How the fuck could you forget to add-” He looks up. Trott has his arms wrapped tightly around himself. His shoulders are shaking. His knuckles are white where his hands clutch his skin, and Smith can see the nail marks.

Smith swallows thickly and looks away.

“It’s okay,” He says, looking down at the supposed to be mac n cheese. “It’s alright. And...I’m sorry. For earlier.”

“No...you were right. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Trott’s voice sound so hollow it makes Smith sick.

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” he adds.

Trott sighs. “I shouldn’t have, either.”

Smith hears Trott move away from the doorway and walk up next to him. He doesn’t meet his eyes, but the selkie curls an arm around his waist.

“Smith...” Trott takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re home. What do you want for dinner? We’ll have to order take out...” He leans his face into Smith’s shoulder.

Smith nuzzles the top of Trott’s head. “Curry?” he asks, “We still haven’t given that place down the street a try...”

“I’ll call.” Trott kisses Smith’s cheek and turns away quickly, and if the kelpie feels moisture he doesn’t comment.


	6. Strawberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith licks strawberry topping off Trott's body. That's it- that's basically the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> This is probably the most crack-fic of this series (that I’ve decided to post), but without it, the rest of these little chapters probably wouldn’t exist. This one came first, and it was based off of a line from the very first draft of _to be or not to be_ , in a scene that got entirely cut and rewritten.  
> “His skin smells like strawberries, which makes Smith smile, reminding him of whipped cream and fresh fruit.”  
> This is the line that all other nods to strawberries stem from, and Trott’s weird dislike of them.
> 
> cw: mention of scars, mention of sex and come, body image  
> Body Worship  
> Food Play  
> Oral Kink? yeah. everything's oral kink with me hahahah
> 
> Funnily enough, I don’t like whipped cream. or strawberry topping.  
> I prefer caramel, that’s my choice of topping :D
> 
> apartment three- the wooden railshack
> 
> http://deseptions.tumblr.com/post/129638090007  
> Trott and Smith's bed, only less modern and crappier
> 
> http://irlnilesy.tumblr.com/post/133188149252  
> Troffy
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/121403966256  
> empty rained street

The music of the supermarket trickles through tinny speakers above the heads of the shoppers Trott adds up the numbers in his head before sighing and putting the milk back in the fridge. They need meals, and with money tight as it is, it means cutting out what groceries they could to afford dinner.

"Trott, can we get this?"

He winces as Smith comes up to him, waving some cheap ice cream.

He takes the frost-coated container in his hands, doing the math but shaking his head. "'fraid not, sunshine. We just don't have enough."

Smith hums. "You sure."

Trott nods and rubs his tired eyes. The trains going past their latest abandoned apartment had kept him up all night. The nights had been getting colder, too, and the dreams that the weather provoked dreams kept him from staying asleep through the night. "Sorry, Smith. Maybe next time, if we conserve some more money."

"Okay." Smith takes the ice cream back and walks away. Money is tight, he understands. But he wishes they'd be able to splurge on something. Trott had seemed down a lot lately, and Smith wanted to do anything he could to make him happier. Even by getting something as silly and simplistic as ice cream.

As he puts the ice cream back in the freezer, his eyes catch on the assorted toppings available.

Strawberry topping and whipped cream. On sale, too. No ice cream, though. Smith sighs and almost turns away, but his mind took it further. He grins. Plenty of uses for ice cream toppings without the ice cream...

He takes the smallest jar of topping and a can of whipped cream, adding the numbers and comparing it to the ice cream, which cost more.

He could maybe get away with this...but convincing Trott would be the problem. Smith turns to find the selkie looking at the lunch meat. He looks back down at the toppings and taps his finger against the whipped cream can where it rests against the zipper of his jacket.

His jacket.

A slow smile spreads across Smith's features.

Maybe he could work with this.

 

"Hey, I got you something." Smith says as they unpack the few groceries in their shoddy abandoned apartment.

"What do you _mean_ , you got me something?" Trott replies slowly, turning from the plastic crate they stored food in to look up at Smith.

Smith unzips his jacket half-way and pulls out the strawberry topping with one hand and whipped cream in the other.

" _You stole that_?" Trott asks incredulously.

"Well, I knew we couldn't fucking buy it ourselves."

"Smith..." He shakes his head, face-palming.

"Come on, Trott, it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Trott turns fully and stands. "The last thing we need to happen is for one of us to get caught!"

Smith blinks. "Wait. One of us?"

Trott grimaces and sheepishly pulls out two bags of lunchmeat and a small hunk of cheese from behind his selkie skin.

Smith snorts. "Why didn't you tell me your skin was a fucking magic cloak?"

The selkie shrugs. "My magic can do lots of things. It's not an invisibility cloak, though, just...stretchy. People won’t pay attention to it with the glamour overlaid."

"Still. That's pretty damn cool. Why do we even bother with money at all?"

"Because it's only fair. We can't steal everything, Smith. That would be asking for trouble. And I already persuade the cashier to reuse coupons, so..."

"Trott, you fucking beautiful schemer." He presses a kiss to his forehead. "You're brilliant."

Trott points a finger at him. "Don't you go stealing too. One of us has to bail the other out if we get caught, and you don't have the same magic I do."

"Trott." Smith cups his cheek. "Don't worry about it."

Trott sighs and smiles wearily back at Smith. "Whatever." His eyes land on the toppings again. "We don't have ice cream, though..."

Smith grins. "Don't worry, I've got a plan."

Trott watches him carefully, rolling his eyes. "And whatever kind of plan would _that_ be, sunshine?"

 

They kneel on the thin mattress in nothing but their pants.

"I swear if you get that anywhere that isn't my skin-" Trott warns.

"I won't, relax." Smith grins as he pops off the lid of the topping jar and sets it on the crate next to the window. He dips a finger in and then takes it into his mouth to suck the strawberry topping from it. "Mm, want some?" He licks his lips and holds the jar out to Trott, who shakes his head.

"Nah, mate, I don't really care for strawberries."

Smith gapes at him and shrugs. "More for me, then."

"All for you. You're going to be the one eating it off of me. Which I don't quite understand." Trott frowns.

"You'll like it." Smith sets down the jar to take off his pants and chuck them to the far corner of the small room. "It's weird, yeah, but it feels good."

Trott takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the sheets.

Smith leans in close to kiss him slowly and sensually. Trott wrinkles his nose a little at the taste of strawberry on Smith's tongue. He pulls back as Smith kisses down his throat.

"How about you lay down." Smith's breath is hot on Trott's neck. The selkie shivers. The walls of the apartment are not well-insulated. They’d stripped the mattress in case Smith spilled something, and Trott’s selkie skin is sitting nearby, folded with Smith’s blanket. Trott can’t smell the saltwater from here- it’s all but faded.

Smith grabs a plastic takeout spoon. He removes it from it's wrapping and sticks it in the jar. He throws the wrapper carelessly away, not caring or noticing where it landed, and shuffles closer to Trott.

"Ready?" The kelpie asks excitedly.

"As ever.” Trott grimaces. “Don't dump the whole fucking thing on me. Only what you're prepared to eat- we're not wasting food."

Smith nods and bends down to peck Trott's lips. The selkie gives him a small smile in return and rolls his eyes. "Go on, then."

Smith scoops a modest amount of strawberry topping from the jar and drizzles it as artfully as possible across Trott’s naked chest.

"This is fucking _weird_ , Smith," Trott mutters, glaring at the ceiling. " _So_ fucking weird. What in the fuck. Also, it’s cold, you prick!"

Smith laughs. He swirls his finger in sticky patterns from Trott's navel to collarbones. "Just relax, Trott,” he says, leaving the spoon in the jar. He pulls his bridle over his head and sets it close by so it won’t get in the way.

"I don't get why you're into this, mate. What-the-fuck-ever, but..." Trott’s mumbled protests fall short as Smith leans over and licks a line of strawberry topping up his torso. Smith’s mouth is warm and teasing. He kisses and sucks marks wherever he sees fit, tracing the line of Trott’s ribs and the scars marring the skin.

"That...does actually feel pretty good." Trott admits. He inhales shakily when Smith circles his tongue around a nipple and tugs at it with his lips and a graze of teeth. Trott clenches and unclenches his hands in the sheet beneath him. Smith’s eyes are closed, long lashes fanned against his cheeks, as he licks the strawberry topping from Trott’s skin. Lapping a line up his stomach and then trailing the tip of his tongue down. Kissing bruises into hips. He’s so focused on him- like Trott’s something he adores and reveres.

Smith snorts at this comment Trott says aloud. “Like you _don’t_ want me to worship your body with my mouth, Trott,” he snarks, looking up at him and smiling. “You’re fucking irresistible, how can I not?”

“Stop talking and do it, then,” Trott teases back, a little breathless. Because Smith doesn’t...doesn’t _really_ mean that, does he? I mean, look at him- too skinny, too scarred, and yet...

Smith looks back at him like he’d follow him to the ends of the earth. And maybe he’d do just that.

Smith smirks devilishly and toys with Trott’s nipples, rolling his thumb over the peaked bud while he bites marks along Trott’s collarbone. Kissing up the line of Trott’s throat and under his jawline.

Trott thinks this must have been an excuse for Smith to leave a ridiculous amount of hickeys, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. It feels good to have Smith’s lips, teeth, and tongue giving him this extended attention.

Smith’s free hand grabs for the can of whipped cream and shakes it sexually, moaning into Trott’s neck.

Trott laughs. “You’re fucking ridiculous, Smith,” he mutters, looking up at Smith with his eyes half-lidded.

Smith grins back.

 

"Ugh, I'm all fucking sticky."

Smith laughs into his neck, still flushed. "Me too." He’s curled into Trott’s side. After eating most of the whipped cream, he and Trott had enthusiastically made out some, and Smith had used his clean hand to jerk them both off. Trott wasn’t cold anymore. He could fall asleep like this, if he wasn’t covered in sugar, spit, and come.

Trott groans in sudden realization. " _Smith_. How the fuck are we supposed to get clean? We don't have any running water!" How could he have forgotten? He’d had so much on his mind that he didn’t even think of it when Smith suggested...

They sit panting in the dark. It’s raining outside, the wet drops hitting the drainage pipe outside the window with metallic pings.

The kelpie bolts upright and grabs Trott to pull him up too.

"Smith, what the fuck-"

"Come on!" He pulls him towards the door.

"We're fucking _naked_ where are we going!"

They run outside into the rain, Smith laughing all the while and Trott shaking his head incredulously. Smith pulls Trott out into the empty street and spin him around under the flickering light of the fluorescent street lamp. The rain pours down and washes them clean. Smith croons terrible love songs at the top of his lungs and laughs when Trott shoves him away.

"You fucking dork,” Trott tuts, smiling.

Smith moves Trott's wet hair out of his eyes and kisses him. He places his hands on Trott's naked shoulders, and rubs the water from his skin.

"Are you clean now?" he asks against his lips.

Trott wraps his arms around Smith's waist and sighs. "Yes, can we go inside now? I'm certain anybody around here doesn't want to see us naked."

"Nah, mate, I'm sure they'd love a show." He grins.

The selkie scoffs and pulls away, shivering. "I'm freezing again, so come on. Let's get back inside and get some rest."

"For round two, you mean?" Smith smirks and lets Trott pull him along this time, careful to avoid any puddles in the road.

"Oh, fuck off."

"...Is that a yes?"


	7. Chlorine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott finds out he can’t swim in pools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> finding apartment four- the fifties/seventies motel  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/129273758891
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/134388407837/jerrodlarue-thoughts-after-midnight-when-late  
> http://jamesusilljournal.tumblr.com/post/155726070847/lucinda-metcalfe  
> pool
> 
> cw: internal panic. panic attack maybe? not sure. low self esteem-type thoughts, illness/sickness. mentions of drowning, mention of stealing  
> Bathing/Washing

Smith comes home from his early morning run wearing dark blue jeans and nothing else but his bridle around his neck. He finds Trott working out, doing pull-ups on a bar stuck in the doorway.

“Hey,” he greets him happily, “Looking good, Trotty-too-hotty.”

Trott laughs and drops down onto his feet. “Have a good run?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Smith leans in and kisses him, then moves past him to grab a shirt off the floor. “Even better at the sight of you working hard.” He winks.

Trott shakes his head and smiles. “I was thinking we should look for a new place today. Maybe with an actual working bathroom.” Trott says, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe with a tub. You reek.”

“I don’t reek!” Smith protests, pulling a t-shirt over his head.

“Okay, we both reek, then. I need a shower after my workout, and you _definitely_ need one after your run. I can still smell the river on you from last night.”

“Fancy a swim, do you mate? Could go have a dip, clean right up.”

“Not in hell, sunshine.”

Smith laughs, “Aw, come on.”

“Nope. There’s no way I’m taking a swim in _your_ river- especially with you. And it’s not like that will get us clean.”

“Dirty. _Filthy_ , even.” Smith waggles his eyebrows at him and smiles.

 

They look for another apartment, and find one with a big wash basin and a faucet, but no hot water and no shower.

“Hm...I think I have an idea,” Smith says, and late that night, they sneak into some fancy shit’s backyard pool.

 

Smith jumps in the split second he’s shed his clothes. “Come on in,” he calls to Trott once he’s broken the surface, watching the selkie carefully strip and fold his clothes on one of the lounge chairs.

Trott stands at the edge of the pool, staring at the water.

“I promise I won’t drown you, Trott,” Smith adds somewhat abashedly.

Trott rolls his eyes.

“I don’t think I could, anyway...” Smith murmurs with his lips against the water.

It’s not Smith’s penchant for drowning that’s bothering Trott about this- it’s himself. He fears he can’t swim. He hasn’t since he left the ocean. But without his skin attached, it doesn’t mean instinct is lost. Smith is here, anyway. And Trott feels safe, with Smith.

He jumps in.

The cold is such a shock to his system, he nearly screams. It puts him back in his memories, and Trott has to tell himself he’s not in the sea, he’s not, _he’s not_ -

His hands shake as he tries to get his bearings under the water. He takes deep breaths in as he kicks to the surface, coughing at the scorching burning in his throat and lungs. It aches and stings and feels raw when he takes in oxygen again.

He turns from Smith in shame, but his back is exposed and he hunches inward, hands clawing for the side of the pool to hold onto, and when has ever been this afraid of what he used to be. That hurts harder than the pool water searing his lungs.

Trott coughs and gasps for breath, shaking.

“Trott? Trott, you alright, mate?” Smith swims over to him, and Trott nods frantically. It’s fine, he’s fine, he’s not weak, he’s _not_. “It just felt like- it was a bit much is all,” he answers. Trott shudders as he turns to face Smith. The kelpie watches him carefully, worried, floating in the water like it’s nothing. Trott clings tighter to the side, continually kicking his legs, because...

Because he very well might sink if he lets go.

“Yeah...it’s different than freshwater, and seawater.” Smith agrees. He moves slowly towards Trott, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted, taking him into his arms and kissing across his jawline.

“Too cold?” he asks.

“Kind of.” He’s shivering harshly.

“I’ll warm you up.”

There’s more than innuendo in that sentence- a promise, a closeness. Trott leans into Smith, clutching tightly at his arms and shoulders as they kiss.

“I’ve got you,” Smith murmurs reassuringly, “I’ve got you...”

Trott tells himself Smith is all the warmth he needs. He wants to be closer. They’re pressed chest to chest but the water around him feels...

Smith hooks an arm around Trott’s waist and pulls him a little deeper into the pool, until the water is up to their necks. They sink under, Trott on top of Smith. He wants, wants to be closer to Smith, but this feels wrong, and it reminds him too much of- too much of everything he’s left behind. Everything he’s been ripped from.

And every breath between each kiss is pain.

Trott shoves Smith away and crawls up to the surface again, coughing, shaking, struggling.

Smith breaks the surface next to him. “Trott?”

“I can’t-” Trott weakly paddles towards the side of the pool, shuddering. “I can’t do this- it won’t- it doesn’t-” His coughs get harsher, wracking his shoulders. “I need- I have to get out,” he stammers.

Smith watches worriedly and follows behind him, concerned at the way Trott seems to be huddling himself. “I didn’t bring any towels...fuck...” Smith looks around at the lounge chairs for a stray one some human might have left. “Here, Trott, come here.” He guides Trott into his arms again and holds him, rubbing his arms and back and trying to warm him up by sharing body heat.

“I don’t remember you having a reaction like this before...” he mumbles into Trott’s wet hair.

“Th-that was _before_ , Smith.” Trott stutters bitterly.

Smith frowns and kisses his forehead.

 

Trott’s shivering stops by the time they get back to the apartment. But he looks worse. His breathing is still shaky. Smith tucks him into their bed, wraps him in blankets and his selkie skin and hopes it helps.

Trott curls into a ball, staring dazedly into a middle distance.

“Fuck. Trott, I’m so sorry.” Smith squeezes Trott’s hand. “I’m such a fucking idiot. The chlorine doesn’t effect me, but I didn’t even consider...” he sighs angrily and shakes his head. “Not all water fae are alike.”

“Chlorine?” Trott asks, weakly. His voice is hoarse.

“It’s a chemical humans put in pool water. Some of that and other pollutants get in the river, so I’m used to that sort of thing. But you aren’t. And now you’re sick, because of it, and I feel terrible.” Smith frowns.

“Not your fault,” Trott mutters.

“I know, but I suggested it.” Smith sighs, brushing a lock of hair out of Trott’s eyes. “Can I do anything to help?”

Trott thinks for a long moment, just taking the time to breathe. “Sea water. If you got seawater, it’d...it would actually speed the healing process.”

“But you can’t...that’s too far, to go all the way to the ocean.”

“You could get some things from the shops. The hidden magic ones. I can make you a list.”

Trott closes his eyes. There are bags under them, making him look older than he normally outwardly appears. His skin has lost the pallor it gained since leaving the sea. He’s too warm, warmer than usual.

“That’ll work?” Smith asks, “Like real sea water?”

Trott nodded slowly, frowning all the while. “It’ll have to do.”

 

Smith feels a little guilty, having to buy the items they needed, all because Trott got sick. But it didn’t cost much, and he’d make up for it later money-wise. He’s sure his next mark would think him a charity case and gladly offer some cash. Or he’d just take their wallet after they drowned. Either way.

 

Smith has Trott sit on the floor next to the tub as he fills it. “Dammit, why won’t this heat...” he grumbles, fingers under the stream pouring from the spout.

“‘s normally cold, sunshine. Doesn’t need to be warm.” Trott mumbles quietly.

“Right...” Smith frowns, and feels the back of Trott’s forehead. He’s leaning up against the wall, pale, and sickly-hued. Smith hopes with everything he has that this helps.

When the tub is three-quarters full, Smith dumps all sorts of magical and material things into the bathwater. Mollusk shells and crustacean exoskeletons crushed into a fine powder; dried seaweed crumbled between his hands, staining his palms green; sea salt and sand; ground fishbones and a handful of scales. The water reeks of the ocean when he’s finished. It shimmers with a strange, foamy opalescence across the top, reminiscent of a seafoam-like bubble bath.

“All right. Good enough,” Smith mutters to himself, dusting off his hands and turning to Trott. The selkie is dressed in only a pair of boxers and his skin wrapped around his shoulders. He’d been too feverish to wear anything else, though Smith tried to keep him wrapped in blankets to keep the chills away.

Trott doesn’t open his eyes or anything when Smith lightly tugs at his clothes and asks him if he wants to take them off. His skin is hot to the touch. Fuck it- it doesn’t matter, the clothes will dry. He needs to get Trott into the water.

Smith lifts Trott into his arms and gently settles him in the bathtub. He doesn’t acknowledge the whimpery sound Trott makes at the contact, but he lets out a long sigh once Trott is settled.

“I don’t really know how to do this...” he murmurs mostly to himself. “I feel like I’m not that good at taking care of you, even though I try my best.” Seeing Trott this sick makes Smith think of when he found him on the beach, and no matter how painful it is for him to remember that, he knows it must be infinitely worse for Trott to get this sick because of _water_.

Smith kneels beside the tub, swirling his hand through the bath and waiting for Trott to get better. That’s what Trott said he hand to do- the magic in it was what would help, and after he got in, it was all a waiting game. Smith runs his fingers through Trott’s hair until it’s wet, and pecks occasional kisses to his neck, in hollow of his throat, at the junction of his shoulder, and below his collarbone. It makes Smith anxious, all this waiting, but slowly, Trott regains a healthy pallor and his fever breaks. Thank fuck.

Smith falls into a doze with his face resting uncomfortably on the edge of the tub, and only wakes when he feels a wet hand stroke his cheek. “...Trott?” he mumbles, quickly blinking away sleep and straightening up.

“Hey, sunshine,” Trott hums. He looks weary and tired, but he’s smiling slightly. And he’s awake, which is good to see after the dazed state he’s been in.

“Are you hurting anymore?” Smith asks, running his hands along Trott’s skin and only feeling the lukewarm chill of the water instead of the fever.

“No...no, I’m not,” Trott sighs, and his hand falls from Smith’s cheek to his side again. “Thank you...again,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry.” Smith says, cupping Trott’s cheek instead. “I didn’t know- I didn’t mean for you to get sick-”

“‘s not your fault. I can’t change what I am...not even if I wanted to.” It’s such a sad tone that he says it in, it makes Smith want to cry. Fuck, he wants Trott to have more than what he got in life. He doesn’t deserve the suffering he’s been dealt- he deserves so much better.

Smith kisses him, gently, but with the fear he didn’t voice aloud. He could have lost him. He could have lost him before he knew him. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he whispers shakily against Trott’s lips.

“I will be, I think.” Trott replies quietly, hooking his arms around Smith’s neck as the kelpie helps him out of the tub. “I really hope I will be, Smith.” He’s still weak-limbed and tired. He needs food, and rest, and more care, always more care. But Smith’s not leaving his side for anything.

Smith sighs heavily, holding Trott to him despite the selkie being dripping wet. He pulls Trott’s selkie skin tighter around his shoulders and kisses him again. Seeing what the pool water has done has caused a toll on Smith as well. It was scary to watch Trott- unconquerable, beautiful, fierce and strong-willed Trott- become reduced to a sickly, shivering, weak shell of a being. “Let’s get you dry and into bed, alright?” he murmurs, just wanting to hold Trott in his arms and not let go.

Trott nods silently against his chest.

Smith grabs a towel off the nearby rack and gets to work drying.


	8. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott teaching Smith how to fight better, under a tree (in the fall).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> cw: mention of fighting/minor injuries, mention of knives
> 
> http://djkrugman.tumblr.com/post/119894652623/summer-storms-in-nyc-view-from-bushwick  
> welcome to the city (eventually)
> 
> http://www.tal.photo/Photos-by-country/Taiwan/i-W5zfCDK  
> Trott and Smith by the tree where he teaches fighting, beginnings of city going up
> 
> http://irlnilesy.tumblr.com/post/132122880737/witchedways-adventored-naturevintage  
> smith and trott in the woods
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/133531024413/shear-in-spuh-rey-shuhn-ernest-william  
> autumn by the river, troffy fighting

"Why should I punch you for fun, mate? Because I'm pretty sure you can knife me in the ribs before I can even blink."

"Because I know how to fight, and you're not fantastic."

"I can handle myself just fine, thanks."

Trott trips him up the hill and snorts at Smith’s stumble. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Trott chases after Smith and twists his ankle, so Smith carries Trott on his back to get home.

 

Trott makes a clicking noise with his tongue and Smith gives him a look.

"Don't you dare make a fucking horse joke."

Trott smirks.

"Seriously. Any sort of 'giddy up' remark and I'm dropping you and leaving."

Trott just grins.


	9. Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Ross, before Smith finds his car, Smith had a motorcycle that he and Trott found and fixed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apartment five- the crappier, weed-covered backlot  
> http://deseptions.tumblr.com/post/129497956987
> 
> Smith’s motorcycle is an 1954 Adler MB 250 S two-stroke:  
> http://busraybars.com/wordpress//wp-content/uploads/2016/02/adler-mb-2501-1.jpg  
> https://i.ytimg.com/vi/b2TfYYjSQLY/hqdefault.jpg  
> http://www.adler-oldtimer.de/galerie/gal035.jpg  
> http://dlh-classicracing.de/showroom/img/adler_mb250/adler_mb250_1.jpg  
> http://up.picr.de/19838014dw.jpg
> 
> horse brass charms  
> http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3562/3464398005_c24f6e0982.jpg  
> http://www.nationalhorsebrasssociety.org.uk/Core/Horse-Brass/UserFiles/Images/webbacks.jpg

“The fuck is on that thing, it smells like shit.”

“No idea. Hope it’s not actually shit though.” Smith rolls the motorcycle up to Trott and kicks down the kickstand. The bike wobbles and threatens to fall over, but only a few nuts and bolts rattle and fall from the underside.

“That looks pretty damn broken, Smith.” One of the handlebars was bent, both tires were flat and rusty, and the entirety of the right side was crumpled inward.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a hunk of junk, but I think we can get it working again. We’ll take a look at the interior and see what can be salvaged.” Smith taps the back wheel lightly with his boot but winces when the cycle groans back. “There were other bikes back there in various degrees of shape, and we could probably take some parts off of those.”

“Why this one in particular?”

Smith grins up at him and gestures with a dirtied hand at the side he’d wiped off. “It’s a pretty blue-green, I had to pick this one!”

Trott smiles skeptically. “I wouldn’t say it looks pretty right now.”

“Yeah, but we’ll get it good as new, I’m sure. All fixed up...” Smith trails a hand along the seat. “The two of us riding down the street...how cool would that be?”

Trott shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know...I don’t know anything about motorcycles.”

“Come on, Trott. Finally, a ride of our own. Gas is cheap, and this won’t need much to keep it going. Plus, there are probably plenty of parts we can fix up scattered about here.” He gestures at the junkyard around him.

Trott hums. “We could borrow some books from the library. I’m sure they have instruction manuals.”

“Now you’re thinking.” Smith steps closer to Trott to kiss his cheek. “Come on, let’s see if we can find a hose to spray this baby off...” He kicks up the stand and starts wheeling the bike back towards the little office area at the front.

“That thing’s not our baby, Smith!” Trott calls after him.

“If I fuck you on it, it is!”

The selkie frowns and leaves the chairs he was standing by to follow Smith. “That doesn’t make sense!”

Smith just laughs.

 

Trott gets books from the library and reads over them while Smith works. He spends most of the next few weeks dressed in a jumpsuit and coated in motor oil, fixing up the cycle and trying to get it running.

And one day, they finally do.

 

"Hear it purr!" Smith grins, looking up at Trott.

"It's more like a growl." Trott grins back. "I can't believe we got it running."

Smith turns off the cycle so they don't waste gas, and unmounts the bike to walk over to Trott.

"You're amazing." He kisses him firmly on the mouth. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"I just read books, Smith."

Smith shakes his head. "No, you're the one who could figure out those diagrams, and where the parts went. I was just the manual labor."

Trott laughs when Smith kisses him again. "Are you admitting to being a workhorse?"

"Shut the fuck up, Trott. Learn to take a compliment." They giggle.

"I usually don't hear them," Trott says quietly when they part. "So...thanks."

Smith kisses his forehead. "Wanna take a ride around the block? Gotta see how she runs." He grins.

"On that death trap?" Trott raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"Oh, come on, Trott! That death trap's our baby!"

"It's not our baby, Smith!"

Smith cackles and walks over to the bike, straddling it again. "That's right, you'd rather fuck me on it first."

"If you think you think I'm fucking you on that bike, you're out of your mind." Trott straddles the bike behind Smith and scoots in close, wrapping his arms around the kelpie. "I'll go for a ride, but we're not having sex on this thing."

"Oh, all right..." Smith sighs, starting up the bike with the roar of the engine. "You can ride me when we get home." He sends a wink over his shoulder.

Trott flips him off in response, but Smith only laughs when he guns the bike forward and the selkie's hands squeeze him tight.

 

When they get the bike fixed and cleaned up properly, Trott surprises Smith with a set of leather pants and a jacket, gloves and boots. It’s a giant splurge.

Smith is speechless, fingers brushing across the supple leather. “This must have cost...”

Trott shrugs when Smith looks up at him. “Have to keep you safe, don’t I?”

The kelpie grins. “You just want to see me in leather.”

Trott smirks. “Maybe.” He gestures to the leather in Smith’s hands. “Go on, try it on.”

While Smith turns back and forth in front of their bathroom mirror, smoothing the leather with his hands, Trott fishes around in his desk for something.

“Looks good...” Trott murmurs lowly, walking up behind Smith.

Smith turns and wraps his arms around him, staring into his dark eyes and kissing him.

“I have something else, too.” Trott adds, breaking the kiss momentarily. He reaches up and pins some horse brass charms to Smith’s jacket. “Extra luck,” he says, smiling.

Smith smiles shyly back, secretly touched. He folds his hand over Trott’s and holds it against his chest, directly over his heart. “You’re the best, Trott,” he murmurs, and leans in to kiss him again.


	10. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Trott’s at the library, Smith leaves to go drown people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of drowning

The library is closing. Trott checks out his books, puts them in his messenger bag and walks outside. He looks into the darkness of the parking lot warily, but lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when Smith pulls up on his motorcycle.

Smith’s hair is wet and stuck to his face. “Hey babe,” he greets, shaking his head back and forth like a dog and sending water droplets flying.

“Oi, watch it.” Trott raises his hand up to block his face from getting hit.

Smith giggles.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

“Yup.” Smith pulls Trott closer by the lapels of his coat and kisses him hard. Trott can taste the acrid river water on his lips.

“Bleck.” Trott sticks his tongue out as he swings his leg over the back of the bike.  He shudders as he wraps his arms around Smith’s waist, touching wet clothes. “Why am I with a river fae again?”

“Because I’m such a good lay.” The reply was completely to be expected.

Trott chuckles and hides his smile in Smith’s shoulder.

“Hold on tight,” Smith says with that grin of his own. He revs the bike and accelerates forward, out of the parking lot and into the street traffic.

Trott straightens up his posture and kisses the top of Smith’s head. He smiles up at the moon and the twinkling stars as they ride home.


	11. Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two big, creepy fucks take a liking to Smith and Trott when Smith inadvertently lets them under their threshold. The result ends in another argument between the two water fae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> cw: harassment, fae manipulation, altered states, inebriation, drinking, fighting, anger, death/murder, knives, threats, allusion to fae sexual slavery/hunters/trading, insults, smoking
> 
> apartment six- the mediocre kitchen, with chipped paint.  
> http://deseptions.tumblr.com/post/129425655294
> 
> song for this chapter:  
> Written in the Water- Gin Wigmore  
> (Troffy fighting, past, is this relationship worth the struggle?)
> 
> “[Is it] better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should  
> wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved.” -Niccolo Machiavelli

"Some mighty fine charm you got there, pretty boy," a voice calls from the shadows. There's a Southern twang on the edge of his words.

Smith slicks back water from his hair as he wades out of the river. He knew he should have ventured a little further down to drown his mark, but it's no big deal. There are a couple of men leaning outside the pub entrance, smoking and passing a bottle between them. He can tell they’re magical folk, but of what kind, he doesn’t know.

"What would you lads know about charm?" Smith asks back. He picks his clothes up off the bank and starts to redress, giving the men his signature grin.

"We're something of mes'mer men our'selves," the second says with a bit of a lisp.

The first grins. "I can appreciate a charm like that, that works so smoothly. Looks effortless."

"Well," Smith chuckles, pleased, “there’s more where that came from, boys. I’m no one-trick pony.” The rush of his kill makes him feel very sated with his evening, and the flattery’s just icing on the cake. He saunters over to them, and the second man offers him a bottle in a brown paper bag.

“Have a drink on us. A fine whiskey for a fine-looking man such as your’self.”

Smith takes the bottle with a sly smile, holding it a hair’s breadth from his lips to get a quick whiff of the contents. Whiskey was all it was- he couldn’t smell anything tainting it- and besides, the men had drank from it too. Smith tilted back the bottle and took a swig, swallowing down the smooth burn of alcohol. “That...is some fine stuff,” he comments, handing the bottle back and licking his lips.

"More of that at the pub down the way, if you'd like to join us.” The first man gestures away from the river.

Smith nods, wanting to know just how well off these two men were that they could buy such expensive whiskey. "I'll take you up on that offer. But just one drink- places to be, you know how it is." He smiles.

The first takes the last drag of his cigarette, and grins darkly. "Sure. One drink's all you need."

 

Trott has been up late reading spell books in their tiny kitchen when he hears the low chuckling and stumbling. Smith’s home, but by the sound, he’s brought others with him. Trott walks through the empty doorway into the living room and comes face to face with Smith and two other men. They’re strangers, with their arms around Smith’s shoulders, and Trott can immediately sense something’s wrong.

" _Trotty_ , these are-" Smith gestures, wracking his brain for names. "Some _mates_ of mine, they're _great_..." He’s completely plastered, slurring his words and giggling in a drunken stupor.

Trott eyes the men suspiciously, especially one with a hand around Smith's hip. There’s one finger in the belt loop above the pocket where Smith’s keys are.

Smith mumbles something nonsensical and stumbles forward. The two men guide him in the opposite direction of Trott, and Smith slumps onto the couch like a dead weight. There are dangerous grins on the strangers’ faces. Trott starts moving backwards towards the kitchen.

"Had to get home, he said. Get back to someone he's rather sweet on," Bad News Number 1 comments, closing the distance between Trott and the door, and blocking the way out.

"Said something about a selkie prince with eyes as blue as the sea..." Bad News Number 2 says, his lisp giving him a bit of a whistle on every “s” sound.

The men start to close in on him, and Trott backs away, reaching behind him for the knife block on the counter.

Bad News Number 1 glances slyly at Smith and chuckles darkly. "Reckon this one'll do well on the market. Once he's docile enough."

"Maybe we'll just keep 'em for our’selves, yeah?"

Their laughter makes Trott shudder. Bastard creeps.

“And you...” Bad News Number 1’s eyes narrow in on Trott. “I’m sure someone will pay a high price for a selkie prince.”

They jump towards him and Trott snatches the knife off the counter, gutting the first man viciously before he can wrap his hands around Trott’s throat. He barely has time to throw the man’s dying form aside before the other shoves him against the counter. The push is hard enough to knock the breath from him, but Trott sends a firm kick to the man’s groin, and this gives him enough time to grab the man by the hair and quickly slit his throat. The second body thuds to the floor. For all that they had mesmerized Smith, they couldn’t fight worth shit.

As the blood pools across the linoleum, Trott catches his breath. The strangers are dead. When he looks up, he meets Smith’s confused gaze from the living room couch.

“What...” Smith blinks as he comes back into awareness, sitting up and staring at the bodies on the floor. “Holy shit...”

Trott glares. “You’re an absolute _imbecile_ , Smith. How the fuck did you get drugged by hunters?” he snaps.

Smith shakes his head and stands, carefully regaining his balance and the use of his limbs. “I just- I just had one drink!” he stammers.

“One drink was all they needed!” Trott spat. His hands are shaking. The knuckles on one hand are bone-white because of how tightly he’s gripping his knife.

“Fuck...that’s what I get for getting hooked in by someone’s petty flattery,” Smith grumbles, running a hand through his hair.

“Petty flattery? Are you serious?”

Smith sighs through his teeth. “Look, Trott-”

“No, don’t ‘look, Trott’ _me_. There are bigger things in the city than us, Smith. Do _not_ put your trust in _anyone_ or _anything_. Do you understand? Do you understand what this could have cost us?”

Smith opens his mouth and closes it again, appalled at the ferocity of Trott’s fury.

“You are _damn fucking lucky_ that I was strong enough to take them down,” Trott continues, “That they had no magical leverage over me like they did with you. _Especially_ because they knew I was a selkie!”

“I didn’t mean to-”

Smith starts to protest, and Trott scoffs. “‘Didn’t mean to’ doesn’t matter. You understand what they were, don’t you? Hunters, magicians, mesmer men! Them knowing my kind is a _weakness_ for me, Smith! You’re _fucking lucky_ , because if they were smarter they could have used you against me. And I couldn’t- I wouldn’t have- I wouldn’t have been strong enough, then. In no way am I the strongest of my kind, and they would have seen that and used it against me.”

Smith shakes his head, taking a few cautious steps forward towards Trott. “Not ‘the strongest?’ So what if you’re not that strong? There’s plenty of other shit you’re good at, Trott-”

“Those guys could have-” Trott starts.

“I know what they could have done,” Smith grinds between his teeth, “I know now. I never should have let them near you.”

“You never should have fucking talked to them, or trusted them!” Trott snarls, shaking. “You can’t just do that here, in this city. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

Smith sighs. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Alright? How many times do I have to say it?”

“Enough that you actually mean it.”

“I _do_ actually mean it!”

“No. No, you don’t.”

“Fuck you, Trott,” Smith snaps, “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t think you understand the consequences your choices could have had.” Trott says, teeth glinting sharply in the light.

“Really? Tell me then. What the _fuck_ could the consequences have been, besides the obvious?”

Trott stalks towards Smith suddenly, quick enough that Smith jumps as Trott backs him up against the wall. Smith stiffens, genuinely scared now at the dark look in Trott’s eyes and the knife in his hand.

“You let them into our _home_ , under our _threshold_ ,” Trott says, pressing close to Smith until their chests are flush against each other, “They control _emotions_ , Smith. If we would have had a couple of drinks they could have kept us drugged for hours. You didn’t even _think_ about what that kind of power could mean if used against us. They would have taken my skin, and they would have taken your bridle.”

Smith gulps at the intensity of Trott’s gaze and goes to shy away. He freezes when Trott’s knife thunks into the wall next to his head, trapping him in. He painfully focuses his eyes on Trott again.

Trott fists his free hand into the front of Smith’s shirt. There’s a burning, crackling heat coming off of Trott's knuckles, and all the sense in Smith is flashing red, _danger, warning_.

“ _Nothing_ could have stopped them from _binding us_ and _forcing us_ against our will, Smith,” Trott says sternly, “We would do _anything and everything_ they ordered us to.”

“I got that- I get that, Trott, and it won’t happen again-” Smith tries to push away from Trott, to cower, but Trott presses closer. He leans in as if to kiss him but stops just shy of doing so.

“Can you imagine losing your skin, Smith?” Trott whispers. His tone is eerily calm. “Can you imagine losing that? _Everything_ that ties you to your identity...taken. Everything you are, everything you have, ripped from you- the very thing that makes you, shredded. _Broken_.”

Smith can see the fear and anger in Trott’s eyes as he speaks. He knew this had been a bad situation the minute he woke from his drunken, drugged haze, but what Trott’s saying hems that into his skull with the weight of his fury.

“ _You don't know what it's like_ ,” Trott growls, hand burning at Smith’s collar bone, “to be cast out, to be exiled, and to rebuild _everything_ you thought you knew from the ground up. So don't tell me to just forget. Because you don't know what you're asking me to do."

In that moment, Smith knows with absolute certainty that Trott could tear him apart without any effort. The dead men in the kitchen are the little proof he needs of that.

Trott backs off, leaving Smith panting against the wall and yanking the knife free. He pauses on the way back to the kitchen. “Do you get it now, Smith?” he asks over his shoulder in a voice like iron, “Because if you fuck up like this again-”

“I get it,” Smith blurts before Trott can finish that dreaded promise, “I get it...”

Trott nods and looks away. “Good.”

He leaves Smith alone with his thoughts. 


	12. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> cw: stealing. mention of drowning/murder/implied fae manipulation. If I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> http://irlnilesy.tumblr.com/post/132636151957/i-wanted-to-love-him-so-i-asked-politely-if-i  
> Smith about Trott
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/133003903463/reasons-to-not-kiss-him-1-you-werent-raised-to  
> Smith about Trott, when he doubts himself
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/144619480763  
> Trott, charms
> 
> lighter:  
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/269466850/dunhill-rollgas-lighter-gold-plated?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=green%20vintage%20lighter&ref=sr_gallery_7  
> https://img1.etsystatic.com/130/0/11112052/il_570xN.927255019_mf04.jpg
> 
> the most Trott brooch:  
> http://fuckyeahlalique.tumblr.com/post/130773250108/virtualpaperdolls-pearl-enamel-diamond-and

It wasn’t often that Trott surprised Smith with gifts. The most common was little protection trinkets. He’d sit at his desk in their latest apartment, making charms to sell, and etching runes into lighters. When Smith perched on his shoulder to see what he was up to, Trott handed him one.

“Here. This one's for you.”

“Oh...” It was beautifully etched with protection charms - green and metallic and gold in color- and other things Smith didn’t recognize. He smiled. “Thanks, Trott.”

“Mhm.”

Smith pecked a kiss on his cheek on his way out the door.

 

When the weather got harsher and colder, the library was closed, and Trott was too quiet and introspective, Smith would steal books to cheer him up. It made him happy, to make Trott happy, even if the whole “stealing” thing always got him a reproachful, “ _Smith._ ”

 

"I stole something for you," Smith said to Trott one evening. He’d just gotten back, fresh off seducing a kill at a celebratory gala in some rich person’s manor. Drowning people got them money, credit cards, and expensive jewelry he could pawn or sell.

And sometimes, something to give to Trott.

" _Smith,_ " Trott chided customarily.

"I know, I know. But." Smith looked down at his feet, bashfully wringing his neck. "Just- here." He puts the jewelry piece in Trott's hand. “I saw it, and I thought of you.”

Trott looks down at the brooch in his hand. He’s speechless for a moment, rubbing a thumb across the glass and pearls, feeling the design, the rose petals, the prickles on the stems. The orange makes his heart ache for something he doesn’t miss. He clears his throat and reaches up to- to brush hair out of his eyes. The orange reminds him of seashells.

"It's beautiful, sunshine,” he says, “Thank you."

Smith can sense the wordless feeling of not-good-enough hanging in the air. "Well, you know. If I can give you something half as pretty as you are, maybe you'll keep me around longer,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Trott looks away from the brooch and pulls Smith down for a kiss. "I don't have anything to wear with this,” he adds. His smirk doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You'll have to go with me next time. Window-shop, pick out some clothes you like. It's easier for me to steal jewelry than clothes.”

Trott nods, and leans into to kiss Smith again. _I wish I could see what you see in me_ , he thinks.


	13. Pup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith finds a puppy by the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> cw: implied drowning/murder; minor fae manipulation
> 
> apartment seven- the one with the fireplace
> 
> pug posts:  
> http://warkidss.tumblr.com/post/128384884693  
> http://warkidss.tumblr.com/post/127443812138/vinesnow-bath-time-more-vines  
> http://g0lden-state-0f-m1nd.tumblr.com/post/138587257416

Smith is strolling post-kill when he hears a whining, snuffling sound. His eyes trek the source of the sound quickly- a wiggling ball of fluff at the river’s edge, covered in a sopping wet cardboard box. He investigates immediately, and a pug puppy squirms out of the box into his arms. “Hey there little guy...aw, come here...I’ve gotcha...” he pets the puppy to calm his shaking, wet body, and easily tucks the dirty pup inside his jacket. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you home.”

Trott...isn’t exactly pleased.

“Smith-”

“Come on, Trott, I couldn’t just leave him!”

“Smith...we can’t afford-”

“But look at this faaaace!” Smith grins, holding up the puppy in Trott’s direction

Trott sighs.

 

Smith chasing after the pup “Randy! Randy, come back here!” Smith chases the pup down the street of their current apartment complex. The pug puppy sure could scuttle his sausage-y body faster than he could. And he’d hump anything he found remotely appealing, hence the name.

Smith finally catches up with the pup when a young woman scoops him up.

“Is this your dog? He’s adorable,” she coos, petting Randy and smiling at Smith.

Smith grins back, charm oozing from him like the algae on the river in the summer. “He’s not as cute as you,” he says.

The young woman laughs, hooked and amused. Smith makes her wait there while he runs back and drops the pup off at the apartment.

“Gotta catch a kill, Trott. Keep an eye on Randy for me, alright?”

“Wait, what? Smith! I’m not-” The door slams shut. Randy stares up at Trott, buggy-eyed and drooling. Trott grumbles.

 

"Smith..." Trott finds the kelpie in the apartment, snuggled up with the pug in a pile of blankets on the couch. The fireplace flickered with warmth, already banishing the chill from Trott’s bones.

"Hey, Trott. How was work?" Smith grins lazily and eyes the paper in Trott's hand. "Whatcha got there?"

Trott winces and hands it over. It's a lost dog ad, and he frowns as he watches Smith's smile fall.

"Oh," Smith mutters, "I guess I should have known."

Randy pays no attention to Smith's mood, snorting and worming his chubby body under Smith's hand in a proposal for attention.

"I'm sorry, sunshine," Trott says.

Smith sighs and sets down the paper to pet the pug on his chest. "It's alright."

 

The house of the pug’s owner is in a cosy neighborhood, with a porch and potted plants hanging on either side of the door.

“Pumpkin!” The little girl who opens the door looks a bit wary of Smith, but takes the pug from him. “Thank you for finding him.”

Smith gives her a terse nod.

The pug barks, wagging it’s curly tail.

Smith smiles fondly and looks back over at the little girl. “Keep a good eye on him, now. He’s a runner.”

“This lil’ guy?” The girl coddles the puppy like a baby. “I’ll fatten him up, don’t worry! Puppies like cookies, too!”

Smith laughs a little as the girl goes back in the house and shuts the door behind her. Giving one last look at the home, Smith turns, steps off the porch, and heads home.


	14. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith eventually wrecks his bike, and comes home hurt. Trott heals him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> cw: injury, blood, wounds
> 
> apartment eight- wood panelled old scholar’s flat (Trott has an actual office in the house now, where he works on charms to sell)

The floorboards creak as Smith limps through the door. When he looks up at Trott he can see a large scrape on his cheek, blood streaking down it and dripping off of his jaw. He’s quick to realize Smith is wheezing, bent slightly and clutching his ribs.

“I wrecked the bike,” Smith says through his teeth. He winces in pain and limps closer to Trott, who leaps up and reaches out for Smith carefully.

“Here, sit down.” He helps Smith into their busted high-backed chair and elevates his foot onto some crates. He takes a pillow from the bed and tucks that under it.

Smith lets out pained gasps as Trott gingerly removes his boots and socks and rolls up his pants.

“I think this is just sprained.” After nodding decisively, he moves away from Smith’s leg to stand beside him. He pries Smith’s arm away from his torso and unzips his jacket. There are scrapes through the fabric of the t-shirt underneath, where his arm was, and blood seeping through. When Trott parts the folds of the jacket and peels his shirt away, Smith whimpers. Like the scrape on his face, there are rough scrapes across his ribs and stomach.

It’s nothing life threatening, but it’s not pretty. Trott can see bruising too, and guesses the front wheel of the bike turned too much, flipping Smith into the ground and pulling him along. Probably a patch of black ice or something. Smith’s skin is so cold.

Trott looks away from the wounds, into Smith’s eyes. He cups the side of his face that isn’t bleeding. “Don’t worry, sunshine,” he whispers, “I’ll fix this.”


	15. Body Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> cw: sex
> 
> same apartment eight. old lamps that look like oil wicks.
> 
> http://feministdwarf.tumblr.com/post/134138909036  
> Troffy pre Ross, early days, winter

It’s a long winter without the motorcycle. Everywhere they have to go, they walk. Winter sets into the city, and the streets are cold and dismal. Snow piles up. They shut themselves inside when the day is nearing the end, and have a lot of sex to keep warm. Sharing body heat, pressed skin to skin underneath blankets on top of blankets. Sweating with the warmth, and panting against each other’s mouths.

Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Smith can still see the cigarette stains on the wallpaper. But when Trott fucks him, he couldn’t care less. He makes enough noise to drown out their ticking, clanging furnace and the shrieking, creaking box spring mattress in it’s iron bed frame. When all is said and done, their bodies stick together with sweat, come, and exertion. Neither of them make any move to get up. It’s too comfortable to be in each other’s arms.


	16. Sex and Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M
> 
> hey I got a chapter done, wooo!
> 
> cw: sex and kink. spanking. dirty talk? roleplaying? punishment? talk of sex toys  
> if I need to tag something else, let me know
> 
> http://deseptions.tumblr.com/post/129283730676  
> fishnets

“ _Trott_ , I’m home,” Smith calls from the entrance hall. He shifts his takeout bag of Chinese food from hand to hand as he shrugs off his jacket onto the floor. “Trott? Hello?” There’s no reply. He kicks off his shoes, does up the locks on the door, and walks into the living room.

Smith finds Trott in front of the fire, reclined on the wingback chair across from it with his legs crossed over each other. He’s wearing nothing but fishnet stockings, a lacy pair of briefs, and his selkie skin over his shoulders.

“Well, _hello, gorgeous_.” Smith grins and drops the bag on the floor.

Trott smiles slowly. “Like what you see, sunshine?”

“I do, indeed...” Smith saunters over to him slowly. The shadows cast from the fireplace light up Trott’s features with an amber glow.

"You've been very, very naughty, Smith..." Trott drawls as Smith leans over him with his hands on either side of the armrests.

"Oh, have I?" Smith bats his eyelashes. "I bet your thoughts right now are naughtier than I've been the whole year."

"Hm. You're not wrong, per say...but you aren't right, either." Trott smiles slyly and tilts Smith’s chin up with a manicured finger. "I should punish you, sunshine. The only question is how.”

Smith chuckles. He leans in closer to Trott, a breath away from kissing him. “Go on then, Trotty,” he murmurs, lips brushing Trott’s, “Show me what you got.”

 

Smith laughs and curses as Trott’s hand strikes his ass again and again. Trott layers blow after blow, and the heat of it sends pangs of arousal through him.

When Trott pauses to rest his hand, Smith tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck, my ass is sore...” he mumbles, shaky and floaty from all the endorphins.

Trott smirks, and kisses his reddened skin.

 

"You’re a kinky fuck, Trott..." Smith sighs, pleased when their scene is over with. He nuzzles his face into Trott’s hip. The sheets smell like sex.

Trott chuckles and wraps his selkie skin a little tighter around the two of them. "Like you can talk, Mr. Spank-Me-Harder,” he teases, “I wish we had more of a selection of things, though. I think kink paraphernalia is harder to find than magical materials, sometimes."

"What, do you want to rob a sex shop? Get all the dildos you could ever want and-or need?"

Trott hums. "No...but that's not a bad business idea."

"Robbing a sex store for dildos?" Smith laughs.

"No, owning a sex shop."

"Yeah, sure." Smith agrees jokingly. "You're dirty enough."

"Plus, we can test new stuff. Free samples and all that." Trott starts running possibilities through his mind. A shop would be a good source of income for them both...

Smith just stares back confusedly. "You're seriously thinking about this?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Right now?"

"Well..." Trott smiles and looks back down at Smith, tucking a lock of hair behind the kelpie’s ear. "I suppose the details could wait until morning. It’s a good idea, sunshine. We could even make it a magic-based sex shop and attract fae and humans alike.”

“Magic? Do _you_ believe in the magic of dildos?” Smith grins. “Because I’m totally down for testing those out with you.”

“You’ll do almost anything with me, Smith.” Trott snorts.

“Yeah, almost.” He pecks a gentle kiss to Trott’s hip. “And with you. That says a lot.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm...” Smith looks up at Trott with a sated smile. “It really does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, they remember the Chinese food. By then it's cold, though, and Trott wakes up to find rice falling out of Smith's takeaway container as he eats.  
> "Smith!"  
> He'd hit him with a pillow if that wouldn't send rice flying everywhere.


	17. Rope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E
> 
> cw: bondage, rope bondage, kink and sex. kink negotiation. mention of bruises and biting.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ok-716l9aBw  
> spiral futomomo

"You would look good, tied up," Trott says in an offhand comment during a scene.

"Not a chance in hell, Trott," Smith snaps back.

But Trott wants to see how flexible on that stance Smith is. The more they experiment, the rougher they get. Bruises and red marks left behind during sessions. Sometimes Trott’s fingers would catch on the silver bridle around Smith’s neck, and the kelpie would bite marks into his inner thighs in response.

It took a lot of persuading to get Smith to give bondage a shot.

Trott kept Smith’s hands free the first time, kissing him a lot and caressing his hands across Smith’s skin. He let him keep an eye on everything he did, and though Smith’s breath was unsteady and there was a look of fear and unease in his eyes, he trusted Trott to let him out if he used his safeword.

Smith laid on his back while Trott tied futomomo ties around his legs. The cuff forming around his ankle made Smith tense up, curling his hands into the sheets. But Trott kissed him soothingly. He guided Smith’s leg one at a time, flush from ankle to hip, and spiraled the rope up around his shin and thigh. He tied knots downward, underneath, and back up the other side. The more the knots secured, the more comfortable Smith felt under the working of Trott’s hands.

 

Trott makes a noise in the back of his throat, leaning back against Smith’s bound knees as he rides Smith.

Smith’s feet are planted in the sheets, but he’s unable to thrust upwards with his legs tied as they are. His head is thrown back, neck bared with a sheen of sweat while Trott’s hands claw down his chest.

“So good, Smith. Fuck.” Trott kisses and bites here and there, too focused on rolling his hips.

“Trott,” Smith groans loudly. The bedframe is banging against the wall.

Trott digs his heels in and fucks him harder.


	18. Steal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith finds the dark green '68 Dodge Charger that he becomes so accustomed to driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> cw: stealing
> 
> http://www.dodgecharger.com/forum/index.php?action=dlattach;topic=67182.0;attach=121189;image  
> the car (only, let's pretend it's a four door)

The 1968 Dodge Charger was dark green, the color of lake kelp and forest moss, a shiny brilliant emerald that stood out in the sea of bland brown and silver cars waiting for an oil change. It was too easy to slide into the driver’s seat- the minute Smith sat down it felt like the car fit him perfectly, like an old friend, like a lost love, like some part of him he’d left behind and only just found again. The leather seats were plush and sleek. The car was sparkling and new, and he could only imagine what it was like to drive...

As Smith leaned forward towards the dials, his bridle slipped out of his shirt. The silver clacked metallically as keys Smith had never seen before clattered against the dashboard.

Oh _fuck yes_. Smith pulled his bridle up over his head. It shifted in his grasp into something easier to handle- a ring of keys the same glimmering silver. He stuck one into the ignition at random and turned it, grinning with glee as the engine rumbled to life. The sound it made was deep and dark, growling that vibrated underneath him and made him feel alive.

Smith took a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket, and put them on before he tore out of the parking lot like a wild hellion.

It was only fair for Smith to steal the car. It could surely be fate that he found it, after all, and who was he to go against destiny?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the literal turning point, I think, that Smith starts really getting obsessed with his kills.
> 
> Also, you know he probably crashed the motorcycle because he was trying to fuck on it.


	19. Sidhe Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Trott starts gathering support/debts/favors/fae, Kirin, who has seen these loose fae in his city, wants to invite them into his court.  
> They are invited to a fae ball, where Trott shows Smith how to dance- the selkie way. But they attract a little more attention than either of them expected to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: fae manipulation, mentions of drowning, mentions of inebriation/drinking/altered states of mind, mention of knives
> 
> apartment nine- townhouse
> 
> http://garbagecourt.tumblr.com/post/132014754579  
> smith's car outside apartment pre ross kirin
> 
> purple tie gray suit  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/d9/71/a0/d971a00696dede164bbb6d7f28da2efb.jpg
> 
> sparkly sequin emerald green dress long sleeved  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e5/96/76/e596764ceaf55470889f215b052749d2.jpg
> 
> http://incolours.tumblr.com/post/122849141191/im-generous-today-better-reblog-them-together  
> the neighborhood kirin lives in
> 
> http://www.worldofwanderlust.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Art-Nouveau-in-Paris-2.jpg  
> http://magic-of-eternity.tumblr.com/post/127160209941/shah-cheragh-iran  
> kirin's place
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/138032053040/zyralith-rennali-need-to-keep-this-for  
> fae ball gowns for kirin's party
> 
> Dancing the selkie way is somewhat of an Argentinian tango.  
> https://youtu.be/J9tMek7T7HU  
> https://youtu.be/s0mQhUyBahE
> 
> http://photo.foter.com/photos/pi/249/deep-green-glossy-walls-velvet-tufted-club-chairs-etched-hurricane-sconces-rope-mirror-carved-cream-mantel.jpg  
> kirin's den

Smith nearly trips as he walks in the door. “What’s this bucket doing here?” he asks Trott, who sits at the desk by the window making charms.

“There’s a leak in our ceiling, so be careful not to knock that over.”

“Huh. A leak from what?” Smith steps around it and over to Trott, leaning over his shoulder to kiss him hello.

“The frost thawing on the roof,” Trott leans away in disgust. “Ugh, you smell like sewer.”

“Not my fault the river’s polluted.”

Trott pushes his face away as he tries to lean in again. “Go wash up.”

“But Trooott-”

“Fuck off, Smith!” Trott laughs, “Not until you wash up.”

Smith leans away and whines.

Trott rolls his eyes. “Go on. The longer you wait the longer it will take, sunshine.”

“ _Fine._ ” Smith sighs and gently tosses an envelope onto Trott’s desk. “I found that on our doorstep, by the way. Dunno what it is, but it sure looks fancy.”

Trott looks away from his charm work and frowns, picking up the envelope and turning it over in his hands. The paper is emerald green, and it’s sealed with gold wax. There’s no return address and no sender address. Smith gets away with kissing him on the cheek before he goes to take a shower.

Pushing his current work aside, Trott waves his hand over the envelope and mutters phrases to find any ill intentions. There was no magic tied to it. Carefully, he takes a knife from his pocket and slices open the top.

Inside is an invitation. In swirly gold script, reads:

“His Royal Highness, the presiding Lord of the Sidhe Court, cordially invites the Selkie of the Eastern Oceans, and the Kelpie of the Northern Lochs, to a celebratory Beltane Ball, on the eve of the Spring Equinox.”

The date, time, and address were noted beneath the inscription, with a stamped crest of rams horns and lightning in gold filigree. Trott laid the invitation down on his desk. The Sidhe Court was the most powerful group of fae in the city- only because it was lead by an otherworlder by the name of Kirin Dave. He’d been in the city for eons, had ruled the fae in the area since long, long before Smith and Trott were ever born. Rumor was that he bartered with mortals to create modern electricity, or that he was the one to help fund or further it. It certainly would have gifted him with a massive amount of debts- and a main cash income- which would have allowed him a great deal of magic and control.

What would he want with two boring water fae? But Trott thinks harder, about the charms he’s been making and trading, about the slow build of magic he has come to acquire to protect himself and Smith and boost their threshold. All that magic ends up leading a trail back to them- and it seems that the Lord of the City had taken notice.

 _It could be useful_ , Trott thought, _to see just how much power this court has in the city_.

And really, he and Smith couldn’t turn down an invite to a good party, could they?

 

Smith stands in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom, brushing the sleeves of his dark gray suit free of lint and straightening his purple tie. He had to admit Trott has a good eye for style- the dual shades of purple in his tie and dress shirt make his green eyes all the more striking. Each part was one of many outfits stolen from former drowning victims and sent off to the dry cleaners.

As Smith gives his appearance one last look over, he hears the click-clack of heels exiting the bathroom. He turns around.

And for a moment, Smith is lost for words.

Trott is wearing a sparkling emerald green dress, with long sleeves, low cut in the back, and falls several inches above the knee. His gold heels add several inches in height, and matches his fancy eyeliner, lipstick, and nail polish.

"Well? How do I look, darling?" Trott jokes with a smile.

 _Fucking breathtaking_ , Smith thinks, beaming. He takes Trott’s hand and spins him around slowly as if they’re dancing already. “Forget the party...fuck _me_.”

Trott laughs. “I thought I would match the invitation's design. And I know how much you like green.”

“Green looks _very_ good on you...” he drawls, caressing his other hand down Trott’s side and feeling the scratch of the sequins. He leans in and kisses him slowly.

Trott’s nails press into his shoulders. He pushes him gently away. “Can’t be late, sunshine, we’ve got places to be,” he warns.

Smith hums, kissing under Trott’s jawline where he knows he’s the most sensitive. “You sure about that?”

Trott chuckles breathlessly, indulging in Smith’s touch for a few more moments. “We should at least try to make a good impression. You can ravish me later, I promise.” He pushes Smith away again and links their hands. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

“If you insist.” Smith licks his lips and grins.

 

The Hall of the Sidhe Court was in the heart of downtown, and like most fae establishments, invisible to mortal eyes. The exterior was regal in design, with art nouveau style balconies and trellises, tiled roofing, and carved statues of oxidized copper. But the inside was vastly larger than the outside seemed. The walls, floors, and ceiling were all the same shade of travertine, and glowed with glittering green ethereal light.

Trott blends in well among the other partygoers. Fae and fairies in elaborate costumes and ballgowns float around the room, talking and dancing. In the center is an enclosed brazier of faerie fire, burning away, as is custom on Beltane. Music trills and wavers from somewhere deeper within the packed ballroom. Servants roam through the crowds and clusters of fae, carrying platters of drinks and horderves.

Smith reaches for a goblet of punch, but Trott pulls his arm away.

"Don't drink that," Trott hisses quietly, "It's drugged so heavily with Queen Mab's wine, your Midsummer's dream will turn into a Midsummer's fortnight."

Smith shakes his head as if dispelling some strange desire. “Right.” He pays closer attention to the fae around them. No one is paying attention to them. It’s as if they didn’t care someone new had showed up. There’s no sight of their host, either.

“Do you want to dance?” Smith asks Trott, turning to him. He doesn’t want to let Trott out of his sight. Something about the magic in this place is unsettling.

Trott agrees. They move closer to the center of the dance floor, and sway slowly with the music.

“Have I ever showed you how selkies dance, Smith?” Trott asks on a whim. “I doubt I have, considering our dance is a seduction.”

“You have not. But you seduce me without dancing, too.” Smith smiles and kisses his hand.

Trott chuckles. “It wouldn’t be the same- being on land, and casting on another water fae- and I’ve never been very good at the magic parts- but I can show you a little bit. If you’re interested.”

“I’m always interested.” Smith kisses him long and slow.

Trott smiles into the kiss and adjusts their hands and stance until he’s leading.

“After me, then,” he says, breaking the kiss and smirking. Their palms are pressed together, fingers intertwined. “Our culture and rituals use hand motions in magic, to enact spells and control their direction. We liken the waves to a dance, and the tides to our rhythm...”

As the music plays, they dance. Smith follows Trott’s steps the best he can, moving back and forward, around and around. Smith isn't sure what parts of the dance are Trott and what parts are selkie, but he likes it. Trott's movements are fluid and effortless. Smith feels like a clutz.

Trott trails his hands across Smith’s chest and shoulders, and down his arms. The longer they dance, the closer they seem to get. Trott spins Smith into his embrace with one hand resting over his heart. He traces Smith's jaw with a finger on his free hand. Smith can taste salt in the air. It smells like the ocean.

And then the music stops.

Trott and Smith freeze in place. All eyes are on them.

Trott slowly loosens his arms around Smith. The partygoers clap politely and then resume to their chatter. The music strikes up again and other people start dancing. The awkwardness dissipates.

Before Smith can get a word out of his mouth, their host makes an appearance.

He’s a monstrosity of a being, tall, and broad-shouldered, and looms over Smith.

“Bravo. What a display of magic,” he compliments. His smile reads friendly, but his eyes do not. Twin horns and antlers sprout from a mane of strawberry blonde hair.

Trott can feel Smith's heart beat a little faster. His hand is still resting on Smith's chest.

“I have to say, I find it a little odd to find two water fae from different bodies being so...sociable.”

“River meets sea eventually,” Smith mutters.

The Sidhe Lord chuckles. His hands are held behind him as if in military parade rest, but his attire reads “mage” instead. His robes are dark blue, the color of twilight, and glow with magical protection runes in green and yellow. “Intriguing. Please,” He gestures towards a set of double doors. “Lets leave the party be and chat somewhere a little quieter. I desire to learn more about you two. You are so very fascinating. Perhaps some refreshments would satisfy you? You must be parched after your dance.”

“We're not partaking in any of your-” Trott tries to interject.

“Ah, but you see...you came to this party. You danced at this party. And if the host of said party wants to talk to you...you go.” The Sidhe Lord smiles patronizingly. “You haven't been to a fae court gala before, have you?”

Trott purses his lips together to refrain from scowling. “Very well. We'll talk. Nothing else.”

“After you, then,” he waves them down a hallway they’d never seen before and gives them a sharp-toothed grin.

Trott side eyes to Smith that they might have attracted something very dangerous, and to be wary.

“What brings a selkie out of the sea?” The Sidhe Lord asks once they’ve sat down. The den hidden in the halls of the manor is completely quiet. It’s as if it’s in another world entirely from the party in the ballroom.

Smith fidgets in his club chair next to Trott, watching the Sidhe Lord pour himself a drink from a glass decanter set above an unlit fireplace.

“Nothing in the sea is worth my time,” Trott answers.

“Hm. Your tribe would disagree, would they not?”

“There is no tribe.”

“You came from one, to be born as you were.”

Trott says nothing.

The Sidhe Lord hums and swirls the ice in his drink. “You left the sea and went to the city...and now you’re with a kelpie.” His eyes land on Smith. “You are the kelpie who drowns their victims in a car, are you not?”

Smith crosses his arms over his chest. He feels like he’s been scrutinized very closely. “How would you know what I do?” he asks.

“I hear things. Whispers.” The Sidhe Lord smiles and takes a sip of his drink. “This _is_ my city, after all. And you, as of yet, are the only kelpie.”

“It's my territory. My river.”

“Mmm. _Your_ river?”

“ _My_ river.”

“How much control do you have over...’your’ river?”

“Enough.”

The Sidhe Lord laughs darkly. “Your kills tell me otherwise.” He sets his drink aside and walks over to Smith and Trott, taking a seat on the couch across from them. The height of the seat back makes his size seem no smaller.

Trott sends Smith a side glance to keep his mouth shut and stop giving away things in his questions and answers, but Smith doesn’t notice.

“What would you know of my kills?” Smith asks.

“They are...sloppy. You soak their bodies in magic, and yet you don’t understand how that power kills.” The Sidhe Lord tilts his head to the side. “Do you even know how it works?”

“I don’t need to. It does what I want.”

“Does it?” he asks softly, “A river is a wild thing.”

“If I’m part of it, I control it. It’s no concern of yours what I do with it,” Smith growls back.

“Ah, but it is.” The Sidhe Lord smiles. “Wouldn’t you want to learn? Refine your skills? If you understood your power to the magnitude that I understand mine-”

“What are you offering?” Trott interrupts. “Because whatever it is, we’re not interested.”

The Sidhe Lord diverts the question. “Have you taught him at all? Surely, coming from water, you should know how to tame the ebb and flow of the tides.” It’s a subtle jibe to Trott. As if he wouldn’t be a fair enough teacher- couldn’t control Smith’s tendencies- but it’s not about that at all between them, and it never has been.

“You can’t tame the river. Or the sea,” Trott snaps. He can hear Smith grinding his teeth next to him. “How would you know anything about water fae, when your original plane is a forest that lies in perpetual twilight?” Two can play at the information game. Trott knows what lurks under all that glamour he can’t see past- he’s done his research, too.

The Sidhe Lord leans towards them with a gaze like thunder. “If I wanted, I could tear this world apart,” he says slowly, “I could unleash the fires of hell, break the skies, rip the streets wide with the roots of the earth. I have walked the planes. I have spoken with gods.” His lips curl into a snarl in disguise as a smile. “I am more powerful than you could imagine. And you will do well to remember your place.”

Trott stares back, fury in his eyes. He slowly and stiffly stands up, as does Smith moments after. “We don’t need your guidance, nor your asylum. We decline all offers you have suggested tonight,” he states brusquely.

The Sidhe Lord sits back in his seat, amused. “If that’s your decision.” He waves a hand towards the door.

It’s a dismissal. Smith is more than happy to leave. The second he and Trott are out of the Sidhe’s domain, Smith spits onto the threshold.

“Fuck that asshole,” he snarls, catching up with Trott as he storms ahead. “If he wasn’t a lord I would have ripped him a new one.”

Trott is silent. His hands are bunched in fists.

Smith loops his arm through Trott’s and pulls him close. “Fuck him. Fuck anybody who thinks they can own us. I don’t give two shits about some lord and his pompous beliefs. ‘Understand power’-” Smith scoffs. “Fuck you, buddy!”

They drive back to the apartment, Smith filling in the silence with his barrage of insults and curses. Once they’re home, Smith heaves a long, heavy sigh and watches as Trott hangs up their coats.

“Are you alright, Trott?” he asks, taking the selkie’s hand and pulling him into an embrace. “I can’t believe that fucker ruined our night...”

Trott snorts.

“I really fucking like this dress, too...”

Trott smiles into Smith’s neck at the feeling of the kelpie’s fingers brushing along his spine. “This night doesn’t have to be _completely_ ruined,” Trott murmurs, looking up at Smith with a sparkle in his eyes.

Smith grins and leans in to kiss him. “I was hoping you would say that...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kirin is so very dangerous. He knows how to get people to like him, he's so friendly, understanding, sympathetic, helpful  
> Will gets sucked in because Kirin notices him. He treats him somewhat like an equal, sees value in him and tells him he could be great, you know, it's all in your head.  
> Kirin is more threatening to Trott and Smith because they are rivals. They have already been threatening to Kirin. He does want them, he is intrigued, but Trott and Smith already have each other- they're not going to fall for this manipulative flattery.
> 
> Selkie magic and culture/rituals use hands a lot  
> Especially dancing  
> The hand motions enact the spell, whereas the finger motions with the verbal component gives the spell meaning and usage.  
> Verbal/fingers- what it does  
> Motion- when/how  
> Pinch forefinger and thumb together, curl other three fingers into claws, make scooping motion until palm up; Sign language/counting on your fingers/playing guitar.


	20. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E
> 
> cw: kneeling, orgasm denial, dom/sub, sex, consent play, slightly dubious despite them discussing it prior, loss of control, panic, safewording, aftercare

“We’re going to play a game, sunshine...” Trott says, wrapping a hand around Smith’s keys.

“This isn’t a game, Trott,” Smith growls, “Give me my fucking keys.” He takes a step forward, but Trott stops him before he can get any closer.

" _Stay_ ," Trott commands with a grin. He twirls the keys slowly through his fingers.

Smith shudders at the magic sparking down his spine. His feet stall immediately against his will. " _Give me my fucking keys, Trott,_ " he says slowly, glaring. His hands curl into fists. " _Give me my fucking keys, or I swear I'll-_ "

"You'll what?" Trott lets out a short laugh and tightens his grip.

Smith stiffens at the feeling of magic like a hand on the back of his neck.

"You're not doing anything except what I say," Trott says with an air of smugness. "Now, _kneel._ "

Smith’s knees hit the floor with a crack, magic digging into his kneecaps and keeping him from moving. He grinds his teeth. There’s a duality in obeying Trott implicitly- he wants to do what Trott says, but he doesn't have a choice not to.

"Was that really so hard?" Trott sighs. "I'm sure the floor isn't that comfortable, but don't worry- you'll have plenty of time to get used to that."

"Fuck you, Trott, you fucking-"

" _Shush._ "

The magic cuts off his voice mid-sentence. Panic starts to rise in Smith's body, as Trott steps closer and brushes his cheek with the back of his hand. The metal of the keys scrape along Smith’s jawline, so close and yet so out of his reach. Smith shudders.

"Speak only if I ask you a question, or if you need to safeword. Your words are yes, no, green, yellow, or red. Understand, sunshine?" Trott asks.

Smith lets out a breath through his teeth as Trott's hand smooths down the back of his neck. "Yes."

"Good."

The selkie circles him, trailing a hand across his upper back. He examines Smith's keys and comes around to stand in front of him again.

"What to do with you..." Trott drawls, "So many options, sunshine."

Trott's thumb rubs slow circles over the polished silver, sending small pulses of magic through Smith's body and keeping him compelled to stay in place.

Smith closes his eyes and sighs.

"Eyes open."

Smith obeys. Trott tilts his chin up with the end of his keys and traces down the line of his throat.

"You..." Trott murmurs, tracing Smith's lips with the blade of the key. "Are way too tense. Relax for me, Smith. Come on."

Slowly, Smith's shoulders droop and his limbs fall pliant. The undercurrent of magic makes him keyed up, but with Trott ordering him to relax it's a heady feeling. Inside he feels uneasy, but it's Trott who's standing before him.

“Touch yourself. Slowly.”

Smith is compelled, as if puppet strings control his every movement. He touches himself through his jeans, edging himself slowly.

“Stop.”

His hand freezes. Smith whines.

“Hands at your sides.”

His arms move in place.

Trott traces Smith’s lips with his fingertips, and presses them into his mouth. “Suck.”

Smith obeys.

Trott pulls his fingers free, spit slick, and walks around Smith. He kneels down behind him, and Smith hears the snick of a cap opening. Trott slides his hand down the back of Smith’s jeans. Smith trembles at the chill of the lube, making a slight noise of discomfort as Trott presses his fingers inside, cautiously, maddeningly slow. Trott picks up Smith’s hand from his thigh, and wraps it around his cock, holding steady.

“Don’t come,” he breathes in Smith’s ear, guiding Smith’s hand to fist his dick in firm, rough strokes. Trott’s fingers interlock with his. He curls his fingers of his other hand hard inside Smith.

A whimper falls from Smith’s lips.

“Don’t come,” Trott reminds him.

Smith’s keys are in Trott’s pocket, and the magic winds itself around him. Smith moans. His head falls back on Trott’s shoulder.

Trott’s teeth graze his neck. “Don’t come.”

Smith shudders. Tighter and tighter, pleasure mounts but the magic forces him not to come. His head spins. It’s Trott, but it doesn’t matter. He can’t let go, he can’t control, he can’t-

He wants to come, but he wants _not_ to come, and he can’t resolve his thoughts with the magic controlling him.

He feels like he’s going to be sick. His vision’s reeling. He’s bitten his tongue, and it’s all too much- it’s too much, and _he can’t- make it stop_.

The power of the magic is overriding the pleasure and the knowledge in his head that this is Trott and he trusts him.

“Red,” Smith stammers, “Red, red, red, red...”

Trott immediately lets up, extracting his fingers smoothly and releasing his grip on Smith. He drops Smith's keys into his hands.

Smith curls into a ball immediately, shaking, fingers clenched protectively as he turns inside himself. The panic and the fear slowly starts dissipating.

“Smith-” Trott starts softly.

“Don't. Don't touch me.” Smith gasps in breaths. “Just- just wait.”

Trott waits for a long time, watching Smith's breathing patterns get progressively slower, back to normal. He waits for Smith to make the first move.

Smith lets out a heavy sigh and slumps to the floor. He stretches out enough for Trott to see his face in full. "Okay," he whispers, “Okay...you- you can...”

Trott gently cups Smith's stubbled cheek. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yeah." He slowly sits up, eyes closed tight.

Trott rises to his feet and gets the glass of water off the nearby side table. He holds it to Smith’s lips and helps him sip.

Smith takes several deep breaths and then opens his eyes to meet Trott's.

"How're you feeling, sunshine?" Trott asks, concerned. He strokes his hand along Smith's shoulder blade and arm.

"Strange," Smith mutters, "On edge." He takes Trott's hand with the one that isn’t clutching his keys.

Trott kneels down beside him, setting the glass of water between them. He can feel Smith trembling still. His eyes don’t stay on Trott for long periods of time, instead dancing around the room distractedly.

“Do you want me to...” He gestures at Smith’s diminishing arousal.

“No.” Smith shakes his head. He shakily drinks more water, not meeting Trott’ eyes.

“Smith? Can you look at me?”

Smith swallows thickly and does so.

“It’s just me, sunshine,” Trott reassures him.

“I- I know that.” Smith sighs. “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright. You’re okay,” Trott strokes his cheek, “It’s just me. Can I kiss you?" he asks, keeping his hands where Smith can see them.

Smith nods.

Trott leans in, gently pressing kisses to Smith's lips and jawline. Slowly Smith relaxes again, and Trott slips into his lap. Smith brings his arms around Trott’s waist. His keys are still tight in his grasp.

Smith leans his face into Trott’s neck while the selkie runs his fingers through his hair.

“Better, sunshine?”

“Yeah.” Smith sighs. "Fucking hell, though..."

Trott’s hands rub across his chest and shoulder blades, feeling Smith’s heart still pounding.

“It was too much,” Smith mutters, “I knew it was you, and I wanted it, but the magic...”

Trott lets him speak, presses kisses to his skin instead of responding.

“I didn’t have a _choice_ , and it terrified me. I know I wasn’t being forced but it...fuck, I just couldn’t...” His breath starts getting a little heavy, hyperventilating.

Trott hushes him. “It’s okay. I understand. I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For admitting that.” Trott shrugs. “For trying it in the first place. We all have our hard limits.”

Smith watches him for a moment, and then nods tiredly. “I feel so wrung out.”

“You look it.” Trott hums, brushing Smith’s eyes closed. “Let’s lie down, sunshine. Get some rest.”

Smith keeps ahold of his keys as they part, and he stands on shaky legs. He crosses the bedroom and burrows under the pillows and sheets. Trott follows after him, setting the glass of water back on the side table and turning out the lights.

Smith turns aways and curls in on himself, and Trott winces internally. He slides in beside him and rubs Smith’s back until he falls asleep.


	21. Mend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott and Smith get angry at each other for some reason, and separate temporarily to clear their heads. But they can’t stay away for forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: E
> 
> cw: drinking, fighting, arguments, rough make-up sex
> 
> song for this chapter: Here I Stand- The Ballroom Thieves  
> Troffy, the last fight

Smith doesn't remember what he said, but there's a bruise on his cheek and he's too wasted to care. He sleeps in his car during the day. At night he pretends not to care.

But Trott doesn’t come find him. He doesn’t search for him in the clubs or bars.

And one night, after too many nights of looking for the selkie amidst the crowds, Smith goes home.

Trott’s gone, out somewhere. The apartment is so immaculately clean it doesn’t feel lived in.

Smith wanders the city instead. Looking without knowing what he was looking for.

He runs into Trott outside of some shop. It takes him a minute to look up and realize it’s Dirty Deeds.

It’s raining out, but light enough that Smith watches the water run in rivulets down Trott’s face. The alleyway is shadowed in the daylight, puddle-covered by the rain.

"Are you going to talk now, or are you going to run some more?" Trott asks.

Smith sighs. "If you want to talk...I'm not in the mood."

Trott steps closer to him until they’re a hair’s width apart.

"That's fine,” he says, slowly hooking his hand around the back of Smith’s neck, “I'm not either."

He kisses Smith brutally, but for every harshness Smith gives back in kind. He shoves Trott back into the wall beside the building.

Trott digs his nails into Smith’s skin. He throws Smith’s weight until the he’s pinning him to the wall instead.

There would be time to talk, Smith knew. But now, Trott was saying everything he could without speaking.

_You can't get rid of me that easy._

_We're both a right mess together..._

_But wherever you go, I'm going, too._

The spring rain soaks them both through. Hair is plastered to skin; fingers grapple for purchase, grabbing, bruising, and scratching.

Trott yanks Smith’s pants down roughly, and then his.

Smith sucks a mark into the side of his neck, a wordless ‘yes’- a 'please, continue.'

“For once, you’re the one who has lube?” he asks as Trott hefts his leg up over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Trott snaps, “I own a sex shop, you fuck.”

“Twat.”

“Asshole.”

“Bastard.”

“Horseface.”

Smith laughs, genuinely laughs, because that’s a new. The sound is muffled not long after Trott’s quiet chuckle in response- by Trott kissing him roughly.

 _Fuck, I missed you,_  Smith thinks, smiling against Trott’s lips. He can feel Trott grinning, too.

Trott hitches Smith’s leg up, and grinds him into the wall. The bricks are rough on Smith’s back. Trott's fingers press at his entrance, and he doesn't let up. He slowly pushes a finger inside, two, and crooks. There’s a burn but it’s easy to soothe. Trott’s wet skin slides against his. Smith loosely jerks their cocks in his grip.

Trott moans into Smith's collarbones, nips along the skin. When they come, the rain washes it away. Trott extracts his fingers and lowers Smith’s leg back to the ground.

They pant in the aftermath, leaning their foreheads together.

“Guess I don’t need to change the locks at home,” Trott breathes warm against his cheek.

Smith muffles a chuckle against Trott’s neck. “Like that would have stopped me.”


	22. Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Smith and Trott find the apartment, the final apartment by the pier, they also find a carnival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/120487460842/interephobic-we-went-to-the-boardwalk-and-it  
> carnival  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/127080086178  
> Smith along the boardwalk

“Hahah, fuck you!” Trott exclaims, winning a carnival game. “Which one do you want?”

Smith huffs angrily.

Trott rolls his eyes. “I’ll have the green dragon, please.”

The game attendant hands the prize over. Trott holds it up to Smith with a shining grin. The gaping jaw of the stuffed dragon almost looks like it’s smiling.

Smith sighs begrudgingly and takes it. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine.” Trott kisses his cheek and Smith curls the dragon to his chest in one arm and swings his other across Trott’s shoulders. They continue on down the pier, watching the waves of the river crest against the docks and sparkle in the sun.

 

Smith buys Trott a cheap macrame bracelet with shells on it, kissing his hand as he ties it around Trott’s wrist.

 

"Selkie prince of the sea? More like emo prince of the semen, ooo!"

“You're literally a  _ hor _ se, Smith.”

“Fuck off!”

Trott laughs. He and Smith walk along the boardwalk, talking and eating from the many food stalls at the carnival. Salt water taffy, lemonade ices, pretzels, and elephant ears.

 

"You know about the Titanic?"

"Yeah?"

"Wasn't just an iceberg. Neither was the Edmund Fitzgerald. Any great shipwreck is caused by selkie tribes."  


“Huh. Guess I never thought of it like that.”

“Bermuda Triangle- selkies. Boston Tea Party- selkies. East India Tea company- totally run by selkies. How else do you think ocean fae have gotten a penchant for tea?”

  
  
At the top of the ferris wheel, the two water fae can see far across the city, from the edges of downtown to the shoreline of the ocean. The sun sets through the clouds, casting shadows of pink and gold, and Trott kisses Smith and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trott talking about selkie battles  
> talking about sinking ships  
> he rather hates his...charm magic, much prefers other methods. he's good at persuasion/suggestion and intimidation, is the thing, not seduction necessarily.  
> Trott really likes lockbreaking magic, and he's good at it. that's what keeps them safe, and what helps in forming a court and finding places to stay.  
> selkie's sing, can sing for any reason, but it's more of a...fear tactic or to draw someone closer. it's not as powerful nor used like sirens songs.  
> if Trott ever sings, it's in sadness or in appreciation/affection because the only time (so far) is with Smith pre Ross at the Dreamer's Ball (Dancing)
> 
> eventually the pier has less and less amusement during the summers and it closes down completely. the river becomes even more polluted. Dirty Deeds flourishes.  
> in the future, Trott tells Ross about it, and Ross says “Why don’t we start it up again, then? We’ve got enough people and places, right?”  
> “You know what sunshine, you’re absolutely right.”


	23. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Smith and Trott in their apartment, before Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T
> 
> apartment 10- the final apartment, home.
> 
> http://triatic.tumblr.com/post/130585491224/aesthetic-blog  
> GC final apartment
> 
> https://img0.etsystatic.com/076/1/7203593/il_340x270.820152782_bab6.jpg  
> something for Trott's office

The new place had a separate office for Trott, for his paperwork, and to store extra merch from the shop in. He was still in the process of setting up said shop, “Dirty Deeds,” but already it was proving a steady income. They could actually afford a place of their own, instead of squatting in abandoned buildings.

The apartment was spacious and airy, with big windows and a good sized master bedroom. The building itself took to Trott’s protection charms and threshold weaving very easily- and Trott took that as a good sign. A sign that this place was more than temporary.

They found a couch for the living room, and a little table for the kitchenette, and slowly, they made the place their own.

Trott loved the way the floorboards creaked when he got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He loved it even more when he would take too long, and he'd hear the creak of footsteps as Smith came in search of him. Smith would wrap his arms around him from behind, lean into him and pull him back to bed. Or if he was up reading in his office he’d lean in the doorway for a moment, watching him, and then take off Trott’s glasses and set them aside.

“Come to bed, you nerd,” he’d tease him.

Trott would smiles sleepily back. In bed, he lets Smith wrap himself around him, and pulls his selkie skin tighter around them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smith and Trott’s magic doesn't work well together- Smith can't drown Trott or charm him, and Trott's magic doesn't always work with Smith's for that reason. River and sea don't always mix so amicably, after all.  
> Trott’s drowning magic doesn't work like Smith's. It doesn't work alone. Selkies live in tribes. His magic is a thrall, a calling to the waves, pulling you deeper and deeper like the tide lapping at the shoreline. It's more of a suggestion, as well, the hint of an idea instead a heavy persuasion.
> 
> Trott fits, and likes that he fits, more feminine human gender roles. He doesn't really care about what other humans think of him, and knows he's often seen as a twink (but that's not how he identifies, which is why he gripes to Smith about using “gay” as a label.)  
> I'm not sure the selkie tribes would look down upon him being so inclined (because sexuality isn't a big deal in my universe). Because of Trott's status and weakness, they wouldn't want to betrothe someone to him or arrange for him to marry some selkie woman from another tribe. If he's biologically weaker, they don't want him to pass on his genes.  
> Trott was never next in line, despite his birth order, for the throne. "my siblings will rule long before I do". His father would have chosen them anyway, and his siblings would have won overall contests of skill and battle to vouch for the throne. The next king would have been chosen on his father's death bed.
> 
> \---  
> Thanks for reading, everybody! I'm so glad these are finally done ^^.


End file.
